Child of Hogwarts, Part II: The Marauder Legacy
by AimeretVivre
Summary: Sequel to COH, Part I. Follows Harry through Year Three at Hogwarts. See Part I for the premise... With Remus Lupin returned to Britain and Sirius Black on the move, Harry, Albus, Minerva and Severus continue to adjust to their changing realities and prepare for an uncertain future... while the ghosts of their pasts refuse to lie dormant. Mentorship; Training; Adventure.
1. 31 October, 1981

**A/N:** Welcome to Part Two! Very excited to begin this portion of our story, which will follow Harry through the summer and his third year at Hogwarts. As a preliminary note, I realise this first chapter is short – _very_ short, really, in comparison to my usual length. However, it serves as a prologue for much of the rest of this book, the set-up of an important tension, and an introduction to another POV character. It's also an exploration of past events that I have been sitting on for some time, and this felt like the right place to publish it. Any longer, and I feel that the impact would be spoiled. But don't worry – the next chapter will be longer, and return us to present day.

With that – on with Child of Hogwarts, Part Two: The Marauder Legacy!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 1: 31 October, 1981**

'Wormtail, open up!' Sirius called, pounding on the door again. The unusually blustery night roared around him, sending batches of dried and decaying leaves rustling down the darkened street. The wind whipped at Sirius' robes and shoulder-length black hair as he stood on the weathered steps of the dingy little terrace house. He glanced nervously about him – it was not wise to linger overlong on doorsteps these days, even in primarily Muggle neighbourhoods.

Growling his annoyance, Sirius pulled his wand discreetly, casting a cloaking spell at the flying motorbike he'd used to get to the house to hide it from Muggle eyes. He muttered a charm at the door handle. The lock clicked free, and Sirius pushed his way into the front hall.

The house was quiet and dark, an ominous feeling of abandonment permeating the place.

'Wormtail?' Sirius called again, more quietly. The hairs on the back of his neck were beginning to rise. There was no reply. Scowling, Sirius made his way through to the kitchen. A half-eaten casserole lay forgotten on the counter, a full goblet of wine beside it. There was no sign of his friend.

' _Homenum revelio_ ,' he muttered, swishing his wand through the air.

Nothing.

His sense of apprehension mounting, Sirius tore through the little house, checking the two bedrooms… the sitting room… the loo. There was no sign of Wormtail in any of them; nor could he find a trace of explanation, or even signs of a struggle. Perhaps Wormtail had merely stepped out for some reason? But that made no sense – he was supposed to be here tonight, they'd arranged it specifically. And Wormtail knew the risks of running off on his own… surely even _he_ would not be that senseless. In all the time he had known him, Sirius never knew Wormtail to not take great care with his own life.

Something was terribly wrong.

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The shooting pain in his arm jolted Severus from his musings, as he sat brooding over a Hallowe'en goblet of wine in the Great Hall. Most of the students had already headed off for bed, but the staff was lingering at the feast, drawing some small measure of cheer from the annual celebration. Severus, who could find precious little to rejoice in amidst his constant battle with anxiety, was merely stalling his return to the lonely dungeons. The summons was hardly surprising, given the pattern of his life these past years. He snarled, clamping a hand down on his left forearm and shooting a dark look at Albus. The headmaster nodded his understanding, and Severus excused himself quickly from dinner.

As he swept through the entrance hall and out into the deserted grounds, Severus tore up the sleeve of his robes. He could usually tell the urgency of the summons by the intensity of the burn and the shade of the Mark on his arm. This time, however, the sight brought him to a halt. He stared down at his arm in shock, rubbing at the skin. The mark was fading before his eyes, almost as if it were dissolving into new flesh. It did not disappear entirely, but the deepness of the black became steadily greyer – until Severus knew the casual observer would not have noticed its presence at all.

Bewildered, Severus spun to return to the hall, intent on showing the phenomenon to Albus – to demand an explanation. But before he could take his first step, a little silver newt darted past him toward the school. Severus froze. He recognised the patronus. It belonged to Bathilda Bagshot, a periphery member of the Order of the Phoenix who resided, if Severus remembered accurately, in Godric's Hollow. She was very old, and a touch scatter-brained in her advanced age. Dumbledore always spoke quite fondly of her, but she had not been active in any Order business since Severus had become privy to their confidences. They had used her house occasionally as a temporary safe house, usually for treating the injured when Hogwarts was too far a journey to make. But they hadn't even utilised her services for that, of late. Not since… not since…

And Severus felt suddenly as if he'd slammed hard into a solid brick wall. He staggered on his feet.

Not since the Potters had gone into hiding.

Had Dumbledore hidden them with _her_? Or in Godric's Hollow, perhaps?

Severus knew the place the Potters were hidden had been under the greatest of protections – the Fidelius charm. It should have been impenetrable… unless the Secret-Keeper had turned traitor. But Black, as much as Severus despised him, worshipped James Potter.

And yet, the faded mark… Bathilda's urgent patronus…

Severus broke into a flat-out run, hurrying for the iron gates and the end of the apparition boundary. He had to see – had to check.

 _Lily_.

Severus reappeared less than a minute later, in the middle of the high street of Godric's Hollow. He didn't know where it was he was headed, exactly, but he dashed off toward Bathilda Bagshot's home, hoping it might be a starting point. He passed a few straggling Muggle children in costume as he ran – the oldest of the trick-or-treaters, he suspected. They laughed as he dashed past him, probably assuming he was some sort of Hallowe'en spectre, in his sweeping black robes and buckled boots. He paid them no mind – those oblivious fools for whom magic did not exist but for the pages of fantasy and legend. In times like these, he coveted their ignorance.

As he turned down the alley that would take him to the historian's cottage, he was brought up short. Several houses down, something was off. The little cottage there stood in ruin, the bricks blown apart and scattered. Severus knew instinctively that this was the reason for the message – and he knew what he would find inside.

He slowed his pace, unease mounting as he approached the destroyed cottage. The first thing he saw as he crossed the demolished threshold was the lifeless form of James Potter, splayed out on the ground like a discarded figurine. He stepped over the body of his one-time rival, sparing barely a glance for his frozen eyes.

He darted his gaze around the sitting room and kitchen, but no other occupants appeared. Two forgotten wands lay upon the sofa, one very familiar. The knot in Severus' chest tightened again at the sight of the polished willow. As he turned for the stairs, however, he heard it.

A child's cry.

Severus froze with a foot on the first step. He did not want to look upon this child – did not want to see… but he had to know. He had to find Lily.

Swallowing his anxiety, he raced up the steps.

He found the correct room at once. The door had been blasted apart. Boxes and furniture were strewn about haphazardly, suggesting a makeshift barrier that had been entirely ineffectual. The outer wall of the nursey was a gaping, crumbling hole; the autumn night's air chilling the temperature of the room. A very small child stood in the little cot, holding himself up against the bars, crying and screaming at his imprisonment and, perhaps, in fear. Severus noticed that the baby had a curious lightning bolt-shaped cut on his forehead, still bleeding slightly. The boy stopped his carrying on for a moment as Severus crossed the threshold, staring intently at him through very familiar, almond-shaped green eyes.

But Severus had eyes only for the form upon the carpet at the foot of the cot.

' _Lily_ ,' he cried in horror, throwing himself to the floor at her side. He knew she was gone – had known it from the moment he apparated to this hateful village. She was clothed in Muggle jeans and a lightweight blouse, riding up above her stomach from her fall. Her arms and legs lay at odd angles, one hand spread back toward the cot that held her precious son. Her beautiful red hair covered her face like a shroud, and Severus reached with trembling fingers to comb it gently back. Her gorgeous green eyes came into view at last, their gaze forever fixed and empty, unknowing of his pain and heartbreak.

'Lily, please,' he whispered, running a finger down her cheek. It was still warm, the life only just drained away. But he knew the precious moments between life and death could not be unwound. Not now. The permanence of his mistake was staring him in the face.

Howling his misery, Severus lifted the dead woman's corpse from the floor; cradling her beloved form in his arms, burying his face in her sweet-smelling hair. He cemented the feeling in his mind forever – holding this woman he loved; this woman he had killed, with his foolish pride and selfishness. She was gone forever – and it was entirely his fault.

The child started to wail again behind him, but Severus tuned out the noise. He couldn't bring himself to leave Lily. He couldn't let go.

He sat in the room for several long minutes, alone on his island of regret and grief. Then, suddenly, a burst of bright bluish light glared through the remnants of the outer wall, startling Severus from his anguish. He whipped his head around to stare through the gaping hole, onto the street below.

A portkey, he realised, as the massive from of Rubeus Hagrid regained his balance on the street. Dumbledore must have sent him, to see to the child. The villagers would not be long in swarming now – it was not all that late, after all, and death and destruction called to onlookers like sugar to wasps.

He could not be found in this place.

Severus gently lowered Lily Evans to the floor again, and tenderly arranged her limbs into a more natural position. He reached out two pale fingers, shutting her eyes forever. He gazed for one long moment at her angelic face, swearing vengeance on his very soul.

And then he disapparated.

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Sirius felt his heart pounding in his chest as he brought the motorbike soaring into Godric's Hollow. Somehow, he knew he did not want to see what awaited him below.

As he crested the steeple of the village church, he saw the scene he'd been dreading. He knew at once it was over; that James and Lily were gone; that the charm was broken. If it had not been, he would have been unable to see the devastation before he crossed the property boundary.

This was all his fault.

The house was half-destroyed, rubble and debris littering the little garden and scattered in the street. It looked as though a bomb had gone off in the back of the house, right where – to his mounting horror – he knew Harry's nursey to have been. The room was missing its roof and a portion of the outer wall, giving Sirius a view inside as he hovered lower to the ground. He recognised the massive form of Rubeus Hagrid among the destruction, picking his solitary way through the wreckage. As he brought the motorbike to land on the street, he saw Hagrid stoop down, straightening up with a tiny bundle in his arms.

Harry.

The baby was wailing – miraculously, incredibly alive; his shrill voice the only disturbance in the stillness of the night. The blustery weather that had plagued the evening had faded now – snuffed out as suddenly as the lives of the people he cherished – leaving only cold and darkness in its wake.

As Hagrid's body turned, Sirius caught a glimpse of dark red hair over his shoulder, and felt another dull blow against his chest.

Lily.

Sirius brought the bike to a standstill, cutting the engine. He ran for the open door of the house, intent on getting to Hagrid and Harry, but was suddenly distracted by a pale, still figure lying just inside the doorway.

 _James_.

He threw himself down at his best friend's side, though he knew already that it was hopeless. Choking down a sob, he reached a hand up to feel desperately for a pulse at James' throat. The answering stillness was louder than his own heartbeat.

'Oh Jamie, I'm so sorry,' he said quietly, 'This is all my fault.'

He reached up a shaking hand, sliding the lids over James' staring, glassy eyes, just as Hagrid came down the steps.

Sirius straightened from the ground as Hagrid stared at him, trying to block James' body from Harry's view. The little boy reached a pudgy hand toward him immediately, his lower lip still trembling.

' 'Adfoo!' Harry called, opening and closing his tiny fist as he strained in Hagrid's arms.

'Hello, Love,' said Sirius, trying to muster a reassuring smile for the baby. He started toward Hagrid, but the giant took a small step backward, holding Harry firmly against him.

'Hagrid, what has happened here?' Sirius asked.

'You Know Who came fer 'em,' said the giant sadly. Sirius could tell that he was fighting his own grief. 'Blew th' place apart, 'e did. An' poor lit'le Harry, all on his own now.'

'And Voldemort?' Sirius pressed, ignoring Hagrid's wince at the sound of the name.

'Gone,' said Hagrid, shrugging his shoulders. 'Weren' no body or anythin' though.'

Sirius frowned. 'Where's Dumbledore?'

'Had to 'ead off the Ministry,' Hagrid explained, bouncing Harry a bit to calm him, as the little boy continued to sniffle and try to reach Sirius. 'Ole Bathilda sen' word when the blast wen' off, and Dumbledore ran off for the Minister straight away. 'E wanted me ter get Harry out, 'fore they came lookin' fer 'im.'

Sirius nodded his understanding, looking down at the baby. He noticed a lightning-shaped cut across his forehead.

'He's hurt,' Sirius pointed out in concern.

'Jus' a cut, I think,' Hagrid acknowledged. 'Dumbledore'll fix 'im up.'

Sirius stepped forward again, looking intently at the half-giant. 'Give Harry to me Hagrid,' he said, softly. 'It's what Lily and James would have wanted. I'm his godfather. I'll look after him.'

But Hagrid backed away, shaking his head. 'I'm sorry, Sirius, I am,' he said. 'But Dumbledore's instructions were clear. 'E said Harry's ter go ter his aunt and uncle. 'Thas where 'e'll be protected.'

'He's _my_ godson!' Sirius said sharply. 'He should be with me. Lily and James –'

'Are gone,' said Hagrid, not unkindly. 'It's 'orrible, it is, Sirius. But we've gotta listen ter Dumbledore now – fer Harry's sake. And Dumbledore says e's gotta go ter Surrey.'

Sirius hesitated, staring into Harry's beautiful green eyes. He wanted nothing more than to take the child and run – out of the country, if he had to. Away from all this death and destruction. Away from Voldemort, and even from Dumbledore. Lily would not have wanted Harry with her Muggle sister, Sirius was certain. Lily did not even speak to Petunia.

But he knew Hagrid was right. And he trusted in Dumbledore's wisdom.

He sighed. 'Take my bike then, Hagrid,' he said resignedly. 'And you take care with him. It's precious cargo you're transporting.'

Hagrid looked uncertain. 'I can' take it from yeh,' he said. 'Yeh love that motorbike.'

'I won't need it anymore,' Sirius said firmly. He glanced around the deserted street. 'You'd better hurry, before the Ministry or the Muggles start swarming about.'

Hagrid nodded, bundling Harry more securely in the blanket in his arms. Sirius moved in again.

'Just let me say goodbye to him?' he asked sadly. Hagrid nodded, and Sirius leaned over the little boy, brushing the soft down of his hair back from his face. Harry's eyes were drooping now, and Sirius knew he had cried himself into exhaustion. 'I love you, Scamp,' he said softly, stooping to kiss Harry gently on the unmarred side of his forehead.

Then he stepped back, letting Hagrid pass him onto the street. 'Safe travels,' he said, as the giant swung his leg over the seat of the motorbike.

'And ter yeh,' Hagrid replied, nodding solemnly at Sirius. With a roar, he kicked the bike into gear, and shot off into the sky.

Sirius watched them go, fingering the wand in his pocket. The street was awakening now, shouts and mutterings growing louder as curious villagers began to move toward the ruined cottage. He gave one last, devastated glance at the house that held James and Lily's fallen bodies.

And then he turned on the spot and vanished; betrayal, fury, and murder in his heart.

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Eleven and a half years later, Severus sat at the same table in the Great Hall, quite alone, contemplating the memories of that night as he considered the child he'd left squalling in his nursery cot. The boy was due to return to the castle any day now.

He poured himself another measure of whisky, trying to dull his mixed emotions with the bracing alcohol. Trying, valiantly, not to think about Harry Potter…

James' son… or Lily's?

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Eleven and a half years later, Sirius Black stared down at an unbelievable black and white photograph, memories flooding through his mind as ran long, dirty fingernails across the moving picture. The Minister was long gone, completely unaware of the incredible information he had imparted with this gift.

Sirius had not felt such emotion in years. It burned away the fog of the past decade, clearing his focus. It was not misery he felt now – but purpose, urgency, and hatred. He read the fateful sentence at the end of the article again, one thought planting firmly in his brain.

 _He's at Hogwarts_.


	2. Fights and Flights

**A/N:** Thank you to all the readers and those of you who have reviewed thus far! I'll skip individual responses this time, as there weren't really any questions and we haven't seen too much of this portion of the story yet… although I found all of your comments excellent, and very well thought-out!

Just as a point of interest, this chapter starts off on 4 July, 1993 (a Sunday, and also the night of full moon, according to the 1993 calendar). Term at Hogwarts ended on Monday, 28 June, with the students taking the Hogwarts Express back home on Tuesday, 29 June.

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 2: Fights and Flights**

Harry Potter stood at the window of the smallest bedroom of Number 4, Privet Drive, the blaze of the setting sun reflecting off the lenses of his glasses as he searched the horizon in vain for some sign of his owl, Hedwig. He had hoped that Hermione might write back tonight. But, so far, the scarlet sky was devoid of all but a few scattered clouds.

Harry sighed. He was _bored_.

His mandatory week at Privet Drive was creeping slowly past. It was not _quite_ as miserable as Harry had imagined it would be, though that was largely thanks to Remus' presence, and Dumbledore's apparent visit to the house while he had been on the Hogwarts Express. He didn't know precisely _what_ Dumbledore had said to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, but they were ignoring him completely, for the most part. This was much better than the alternative, in Harry's opinion, but it did get a bit dull at times. At least they hadn't locked him in his room, or refused to allow him regular meals and freedom to move about the house and garden. He hadn't even had to cook or clean while he was there.

Of course, it definitely helped that Remus had taken up residence in the guest room… until tonight, that was.

Harry had very much enjoyed having Remus around. He was funny and kind, and he scared Aunt Petunia terribly. Remus had told him, as they travelled together from the Hogwarts Express to Privet Drive by Muggle taxi, that he had met Petunia one time years ago, at Harry's parents' wedding. She and Uncle Vernon were married already, but Petunia hadn't wanted to 'expose' her husband to the magical world.

'It was a wonderful night, Harry,' Remus said, with a fond smile at the memory. 'Your mother was absolutely glowing – the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. James couldn't keep his eyes off her. He knocked over a waiter with a tray of champagne when he tried to take a glass at the toast, because he wouldn't turn his head properly.' He chuckled a bit. 'He always did play the fool when Lily was in the picture.'

Harry smiled too. It was nice to hear about his mother and father from a contemporary; their friend. 'I have a picture from their wedding,' he told Remus eagerly. 'Hagrid made me an album last year, when I was in hospital wing after the thing with the philosopher's stone. I brought it, I think.' He leaned over the back of the bench to dig his holdall out of the boot, rummaging inside to locate the photo album. He flipped through the pages until he found the one he wanted.

'This one!' said Harry, passing the book over so Remus could see the picture. Remus' face took on an arrested expression as he stared down at the little moving people, and Harry thought something flashed, briefly, across his eyes. But then he smiled again, running a careful finger over the photo's protective plastic covering.

'Yes,' he breathed quietly. 'They really were wonderful together, Harry.'

'Aunt Petunia isn't in the photograph,' Harry observed. 'I didn't know she'd gone. She never talks about my mum at all, really.'

'She and Lily did not get on,' Remus admitted carefully. 'But I know Lily loved her, and I think Petunia returned the feelings… in her way, and maybe even against her will. It was hard for both of them, growing up in such different worlds. I think your aunt resented her sister. Lily was talented, beautiful and magical – and not just in the wizarding sense. Perhaps, in time, they would have grown closer again, had Lily lived.'

Harry frowned, thinking of Petunia Dursley. He was inclined to disagree, personally.

Neither Aunt Petunia nor Uncle Vernon had kicked up a fuss about Remus' presence in their guest bedroom, much to Harry's shock. He supposed Dumbledore had pre-arranged it, while they'd been on the train. Vernon Dursley had gnashed his teeth a bit as he stepped back to allow them into the house, and Petunia kept her lips tightly pursed as she showed Remus to his room… but there were none of the tantrums or rages Harry had anticipated on the Hogwarts Express.

The four days since had been pretty much identical. Harry got up each morning and had breakfast with Remus, usually an hour or so after the Dursleys had vacated the table. None of them particularly wanted to dine together. Vernon, of course, was working on the weekdays, so Harry usually did not see him until dinner. Petunia made a point of seeing to errands or taking Dudley on outings, keeping out of the house as much as possible while Harry and Remus were in residence. Dudley tried to goad Harry on his first evening back in the house, but Aunt Petunia quickly put a stop to it, snapping at Dudley to keep away from his cousin for the week. Dudley, who was quite unused to such harsh tones from his doting mother, had been stunned into obedience… though not without several tearful tantrums because Petunia would not leave him alone in the house with the wizards so he could watch television while she bustled round the town.

Remus was insistent that he and Harry stay in the house or garden as often as possible, because it would help strengthen the blood protection more quickly. It would have been ideal if Petunia or Dudley remained in the house with them… but Harry thought he was rather comfortable with making that particular concession. Unfortunately, he could not spend as many hours as he might have liked interrogating Remus about life with his parents, because Snape's dire pronouncement that he would be tested on his Potions skills upon his return to Hogwarts meant that he had to put a lot of time into revising a year's worth of notes. Remus was sympathetic to Harry's plight, and they spent much of the day reading over the material together. Remus was a very good teacher – kind and patient with Harry, who knew Potions was not his best subject (though he thought he was much more proficient than he had been this time last summer). They revised in the garden if the weather held out, which was slightly more enjoyable than sitting in Aunt Petunia's stuffy sitting room, or Harry's depressing bedroom. Remus freely admitted that Potions had been his least favourite subject at Hogwarts too – and that was before Snape had been teaching the subject.

Remus did not much like talking about Professor Snape, Harry thought. He was perfectly polite whenever he did speak about him, but Harry could tell by the set of his jaw that Remus was not particularly fond of the Potions master either. When he finally plucked up the courage to ask about it, Remus merely said, 'I am very grateful to Severus, Harry. He has contributed a lot to the art of potion making in his years as a professor, and he is a good friend of Albus Dumbledore's. We are on the same side – the right side of Magic.'

'Yeah,' Harry allowed. 'But you don't like him much, do you?'

'I do not _dislike_ Severus, Harry. Nor are we close friends.'

'My father didn't get on with him though, did he?' asked Harry, pressing the point.

Remus smiled benignly. 'No,' he admitted. 'James and Severus had a bit of a rivalry during our school years. We were in the same form, though in different houses. You know how children can be… but that was many years ago, Harry. And childhood grudges fade.'

Harry rather doubted this, thinking of all the times Snape had ridiculed him while comparing his actions to his father. But he didn't want Remus to think he was being petty, so he merely shrugged.

Remus was far more vocal about other aspects of his parents' time at the school, in the hours Harry was able to ask him questions. Harry learned that James had been a superb quidditch Chaser, playing for Gryffindor from second through seventh year and captaining the team in his final two years at Hogwarts. They had won the cup four times, while James had been a member of the house team. He and his friends had been found of pranks and mischief, which had sometimes got them into loads of trouble. Remus suggested, with a wink, that Harry ask his Head of House if he was interested in the details. His mother, on the other hand, had been much less inclined toward flying, but very active in the Charms club and the annual duelling tournament – which Harry was very disappointed to learn had been discontinued in their Sixth year, for reasons Remus refused to discuss. Remus said Lily had been very bright and talented, especially in Charms and in Potions.

'Were they always together?' Harry asked, on their third afternoon on Privet Drive. Remus laughed.

'Do _you_ have a girlfriend, Harry?' he countered.

Harry scowled, feeling a blush creep into his cheeks. ' _No_!' he replied emphatically. Remus chuckled again before bringing himself back to solemnity with a pensive expression on his face.

'Teenagers fall in and out of love so easily,' he mused. 'And sometimes, they discover that what they've really been searching for has been right in front of their eyes.'

He smiled at the look of utter bewilderment on Harry's face. 'James always loved your mother, Harry,' he clarified in a gentle tone. 'From our first year, I think. He used to get up to all sorts of hijinks, trying to impress her. But Lily wouldn't give him the time of day.'

'She didn't love him?' asked Harry in shock – almost desperation. But Remus shook his head, still smiling.

'I think at first she thought he was an absolute idiot,' he admitted fondly. 'But he grew up, eventually.' He chuckled again. 'They were made Head Boy and Girl in our seventh year. You can just imagine the scandal when, after the Hallowe'en feast, Minerva McGonagall discovered them snogging in her _own_ empty classroom! Only time I ever heard her lay into Lily the way she so often did James… it was a memory I'll cherish forever.'

Harry blushed again, much deeper this time, and Remus roared with laughter. He actually wiped tears from his eyes as he finally pulled himself together.

'And the rest, as they say, is history.'

Dinner was the only meal they frequently shared with the Dursleys. Harry always offered to help Aunt Petunia in the kitchen, but she rarely allowed him around the preparations except to lay the table. Remus attempted forced conversation every night, but was usually only answered in irritable grunts by Uncle Vernon. So they ate in near silence.

After supper, Harry usually retired to his room, and Remus to his. Remus was tired a _lot_ , in Harry's opinion. He seemed to be constantly on the edge of illness. Throughout their time on Privet Drive, Harry had noticed Remus becoming thinner and paler, eating less and less at mealtimes and growing later to rise each morning. He had asked several times if Remus was feeling well, but Remus always smiled reassuringly and insisted he was fine. Harry didn't feel he knew him well enough yet to press the point, so he tended to change the subject instead. But he hadn't missed that Remus had been taking a goblet full of some disgusting looking, smoking potion every morning since their arrival on Privet Drive.

'Did you already know me?' he'd asked only yesterday, as he and Remus finally set aside the Potions text for a half-hour of relaxation in the garden before dinner.

'What do you mean?' Remus replied, turning so he was propped up on an elbow as he looked in puzzlement at Harry. Harry saw that there were deep purple shadows under Remus' eyes. He looked quite drawn.

'When we met at Hogwarts, in Dumbledore's office,' Harry clarified. 'You said I had Lily's eyes – just as you remembered. Did you mean like you remembered her eyes had looked? Or that you remembered what _my_ eyes looked like?'

Remus studied his face for a moment, seeming to debate the answer. 'I had met you before,' he said at last. 'Years ago, when you were very young.'

'Before they died?' asked Harry quietly.

'Yes,' Remus confirmed. 'I used to see you quite often in fact, just after you were born, up until your first birthday or so. Things were a bit… more complicated after that.'

'You came to visit them?' Harry guessed.

'Yes, James and Lily, and you, Harry. The day you were born was the best day of James' life. And Lily's. They were in absolute awe of you.'

'You were there?' asked Harry, astounded.

'Not that very minute, but I came later that day with –' he broke off, a momentary tension flashing across his face. 'Some of your parents' friends, myself included, came to see them and meet you,' he rephrased. 'You were tiny – so tiny… all pink and new, with these huge green eyes that seemed to take in the world.'

Harry smiled faintly, though the thought made him sad. Things would have been so different if his parents had lived.

'James was proud as a peacock,' Remus remembered fondly. 'Strutting around with you like he'd personally ensured the coming of the Messiah. He was hardly willing to let you go for a moment – even to Lily.' He chuckled a bit at the memory. 'He was always like that with you, as you started to grow. I used to come over for Sunday dinners every week for that first year you were around. I'd never laughed so much in my life, not even when we were at school.'

'Why did you stop?' Harry asked.

Remus' eyes grew sad. 'It was a very troubled time, Harry,' he said carefully. 'You could not understand – you are still too young. But we were a world at war, and things were dark and very dangerous. I was doing important work for our side. So were your parents, and most of our friends and allies. And war makes it very difficult to keep to a regular schedule. Those final few months… there was nothing but a shadow of uncertainty and panic.'

Harry shuddered. But it still didn't answer his question. 'What about after?' he pressed in a small voice. 'After they died – I mean. Nobody ever came to visit, I don't think. Not after I was brought here.'

Remus sighed. 'I know, Harry,' he admitted. 'And I am so sorry – I should have come much sooner. It was… complicated.'

'Why?' asked Harry, trying not to sound too accusatory. He didn't want Remus to get angry with him.

'A lot of reasons,' Remus said with another sigh. 'None of them enough. For one, your location was kept hidden from everyone for a very long time. The Ministry was in a panic trying to discover your whereabouts, but we did not want you to come to harm. Dumbledore placed several wards around this house – trying to give you privacy and further protection. He had no choice, Harry,' Remus continued quickly, recognising the look of outrage on Harry's face. 'Things were upside-down in our world. It was very difficult to tell who was on which side, especially when it became clear that Lord Voldemort was gone, and those who had followed him tried to keep themselves out of prison. We could not be sure that wizards who sought to see you had good intentions. And, of course, it was essential that the blood wards remain intact. And Albus had no idea, Harry – none of us did – of what was going on here.'

Harry scowled. Although he understood the headmaster's reasoning in ensuring his mother's protection, he was still not happy about it.

'But that was not my only reasoning,' Remus admitted. 'I had lost… everything, that night. Your parents, and also my other two best friends. It stole my very soul, and I thought I too would perish from the weight of it. I left Britain entirely – went to the continent for a new position in Germany. I wanted to be away from the death and heartbreak, at least for a while. And I found it was… easier, there, to handle my memories and my burdens. When I was so physically removed from the place where my friends had perished. When I did not have to walk the streets of ghosts and shadows.'

'But you were helping Dumbledore,' said Harry shrewdly. 'I saw a memory of yours last summer – from some forest. Professor Dumbledore told me it was in Albania.'

Remus looked surprised, and a tad concerned. 'Yes…' he said uncertainly. 'Albus contacted me about a year ago, and asked if I would do him a favour. I've been helping him with a few projects since then, and he asked me a short while ago to come back to Britain. So I came – partly for him, and partly for you, Harry.'

Harry cocked his head, considering Remus. 'I wish I could remember you,' he said quietly. 'From when I was little, I mean. I wish I could remember _them_ ,' he added, even more softly.

Remus put a hand on his shoulder, his eyes warm and understanding. 'I know, Harry,' he said. 'I wish you had those memories too. James and Lily were wonderful people, and the world itself was bereft when they left it. But they will always live on in you, Harry. And you'll always have their love, whether you can see them or not. As will the rest of us. They gave the wizarding world a great gift.'

He smiled a bit at Harry's confused expression.

'You,' he clarified.

Harry turned away from the window again, giving up on the search for Hedwig. He flopped down on his bed, picking up the letter from Ron that Errol had brought on his second morning at Privet Drive. He decided to re-read it, just for something to distract his mind.

 _Harry,_

 _Already miss you, mate! You must be bored senseless by now… so I thought I'd send this off with Errol so you had something to do. He's pathetic and old, mind you, so decent chance this never gets to you anyway._

 _Exciting news here though – Dad's won the_ Daily Prophet _Galleon Draw! We found out last night, and it's a huge haul, like 700 galleons or something like that! Mum and Dad are talking about taking us all to Egypt, to see Bill. We've wanted to go for ages… but it's really expensive. I can't wait – there's supposed to be all sorts of cursed tombs and giant sphinxes and everything. Plus, Bill is definitely my best brother._

 _Don't tell the twins I said that._

 _I think Mum and Dad'll be able to get me a new wand too… they're miffed I never said the last one had been broken… but Mum's been extra good with me this summer, after everything with Ginny and all._

 _Anyway, I've put the cutting from the_ Prophet _in, you can read for yourself. The photographer wasn't too chuffed about taking it at our house, but Mum insisted._

 _I think their scheme is to head to Egypt next week, and we might be there a while, so I don't know if I'll see you this month. I'll send your birthday present from there though – might be able to get Bill to sneak me something from one of the cursed tombs if I'm lucky._

 _Hermione's written this morning – did you know she's signed up for_ ALL _of the elective courses? I don't know how I missed that last year… she's barking, I tell you._

 _Keep in touch if you can. Maybe we can go down to Diagon Alley together at the end of the holiday._

 _Bye – Ron_

Harry glanced briefly at the newspaper cutting Ron had included with his letter. The black and white photograph made him smile – all seven of the Weasleys he'd met so far standing in front of their house, the Burrow, smiling and waving cheerily for the camera. Even Ron's pet rat, Scabbers, had made it into the picture, raising his own paw on Ron's shoulder.

'Boy – you'd better get down here!' came his uncle's snarling voice up the stairs. 'I'll be back in ten minutes – help your aunt lay the table!'

Harry sighed. 'Just a moment, Uncle Vernon!' he called back, getting wearily to his feet.

He'd been dreading this evening all day – ever since Remus had told him at breakfast he'd need to step out tonight.

'But why?' asked Harry in surprise. 'I thought you were staying with me the whole week!' He didn't mean to sound whingy, but he really didn't fancy being left on his own at Privet Drive.

Remus gave him a small, sad smile. 'I don't want to Harry, believe me. But I have been feeling a bit off colour for a few days,' he admitted. Harry didn't doubt it – he looked like he might keel over right into his porridge.

'The potion isn't working?' he asked in sympathy.

'The potion… helps,' Remus allowed, 'But it isn't a cure, unfortunately. So I'll need to go away this afternoon for the night, to rest and recover a little.'

Harry nodded. He could not ask Remus to stay if he was ill. And, after all, it was only one night on his own.

'Ok,' he said, trying to sound nonchalant. 'I hope you feel better, Remus. Don't worry about me – I'll be fine here.'

Remus shook his head. 'I am not leaving you on your own, Harry,' he said sternly. 'You know Arabella Figg, I believe? She will be coming to keep an eye on you.'

Harry stared at the man in shock, remembering the dotty old lady he'd spent many hours with when the Dursleys had gone off on an outing or holiday, and not wanted to bring him along. 'Mrs Figg's a _witch_?!' he asked in astonishment. 'How come she never told me!'

Remus smiled, but shook his head. 'A squib,' he clarified. 'But she's a very old friend of Albus', and quite trustworthy. She'll be here for dinner, and she'll be coming back over in the morning to stay with you until I'm able to return tomorrow afternoon. Your aunt and uncle are already aware of the arrangement, and they know not to give you any trouble about it.'

And they hadn't, not so far, at least. But they _had_ thrown further misery into Harry's already dismal scheme for an evening without Remus.

To Harry's horror, it seemed Aunt Marge was in town.

Aunt Petunia spent the afternoon scrubbing the little house top to bottom. And Dudley – who seemed far less apprehensive about being in the same room with Harry now that the grown wizard had left – condescended to explain to him that Mummy was readying the place for Auntie Marge's arrival. Marge was, apparently, in town for a breeder's convention… and not very happy that she had been forced to stay in a hotel due to Harry's _guest_. She would be coming to dinner tonight, since Remus was away.

Dinner with Aunt Marge, and no Remus. Harry was miserable.

Aunt Marge was one of Harry's least favourite people in the world. She was not _his_ aunt – not really – though he'd always been forced to call her as such. She was Uncle Vernon's sister, and the resemblance went far beyond their massive size, purple faces and matching moustaches. Marge Dursley bred bulldogs on a large estate in Yorkshire, and she wasn't a frequent visitor at Privet Drive (to Harry's great delight as a child). But not withstanding their rarity, each of her visits had always ended horribly for Harry. He'd been chased up trees by her vicious pets, forced to carry in heaps of presents for Dudley and received nothing in turn, and constantly ridiculed by Aunt Marge herself.

Nothing could have made his evening more unpleasant than the news of her imminent arrival.

Harry trudged slowly down the steps, as if he could delay the moment with his own hesitancy. His aunt was awaiting him just inside the kitchen door. She darted a glance outside to check that Dudley was fully occupied with the television in the sitting room, then motioned to Harry to sit at the table, crossing her arms and glaring down at him.

'You are not to cause a _scene_ while Marge is in the house, do you hear?' she asked sharply.

'Yes, Aunt Petunia,' Harry replied in a dull voice.

'I'll have no mention of your unnaturalness around her,' Petunia continued. 'She's no idea what you've been up to up at that… that _school_ , and we're going to keep it that way. You'll mind your tongue and your manners while she's here.'

'Yes, Aunt Petunia,' Harry repeated.

She glared at him suspiciously. 'Vernon's told her that you attend St. Brutus's, if it comes up at all,' she added. 'But I would prefer you not speak to her.'

'St. Brutus's?' Harry repeated, confused.

'St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys.' She clarified.

'I – _what_?!' said Harry in astonishment. 'You've told her I'm a _criminal_!'

Aunt Petunia's glare intensified. 'Well, you ran off last summer without a trace, didn't you?' she reminded him. 'We had to give _some_ story out around the neighbourhood – or people would talk. And you'll stick to it, or they'll be consequences.'

Harry ground his teeth, but did not reply. There wasn't really any point.

Aunt Petunia gave a satisfied sniff, dumped a load of cutlery out of a drawer and onto the counter for Harry to deal with, and went off to stir her creamed onions.

His moment of doom was not long in coming. Harry had no sooner set the last of the wine glasses on the dining room table when a tinkling from the panes of glass in the front hall announced that Vernon and Marge were on the steps. He tried to sidle out of the room and back into the kitchen, but Aunt Petunia intercepted him.

'Go and get the door!' she hissed at him.

With a sigh and a feeling of great foreboding, Harry retraced his steps into the front hall and pulled the door ajar.

Aunt Marge pushed her way through, shoving Harry hard with her elbow out of her path. A growling bulldog Harry recognised followed at her heels, nipping a bit in his direction as Harry backed away, rubbing the sore spot on his stomach.

'Where's my darling neffy-poo?' Aunt Marge bellowed, not sparing a glance for Harry. She pulled Dudley into a crushing hug as the blond boy shuffled into the hall, making sickening cooing noises as she planted wet kisses all over his face. Harry thought the scene looked rather like wrestling panda bears. Dudley tolerated the affection with a simpering smile, which widened as he withdrew from Aunt Marge's embrace with a fist clenched around a twenty-pound note.

'Good evening, Petunia!' Aunt Marge continued, bumping her massive cheek awkwardly up against the thinner woman's. Uncle Vernon smiled proudly down upon them all.

'Can I get you a cocktail before dinner, Marge?' he asked, helping her out of her car coat.

'Lovely, Vernon, thank you,' she agreed at once. 'And perhaps a spot of brandy in a dish for Ripper, if you would.' Vernon nodded and left for the kitchen to fix the drinks, and Aunt Marge finally rounded on Harry.

'Still here, I see, boy?' she spat at him, her beady eyes glinting nastily.

'For a bit,' Harry agreed, trying for polite. Ripper was still growling at him from Marge's feet. Aunt Marge snorted.

'Don't know _how_ they put up with you all these years,' she said loudly. ' _I_ certainly wouldn't have – if you'd been left on my front stoop. Not for one moment. It'd have been straight off to the orphanage.'

'Vernon ought to have the drinks prepared by now,' said Aunt Petunia quickly, stepping in before Harry might retort. 'Come, Marge, let's go into the sitting room. I've made some delicious hors d'oeuvre from that French cookbook you sent at Christmas.'

Marge allowed Petunia to chivvy her out of the hall, and Harry leaned against the wall, thoroughly depressed. It was going to be a very long evening.

He was just contemplating sneaking back up to his room until dinner when there was a knock upon the door, and Harry moved to open it once more.

'Good evening, Harry,' said tiny Mrs Figg. She smiled sweetly at him as he returned the greeting and stepped back so she could enter the hall.

'Can I take your coat, ma'am?' Harry offered politely as she made to unbutton it.

'Thank you, dear,' she said, sliding out of the arms so Harry could hang it. 'How have you been keeping?' she asked.

'Oh, fine, thanks,' Harry said airily, stowing the purple coat on the stand in the corner. 'It's good of you to come. I didn't know you were friendly with Professor Dumbledore,' he added, looking curiously back at her.

Mrs Figg smiled. 'Oh yes, Albus and I have been acquainted for many years now,' she said with a nod. 'I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything sooner… but it would have only created more problems, when you were small.'

'Right,' said Harry, just a fraction bitterly. He had spent many days in Mrs Figg's sitting room, even stayed the night at her house when the Dursleys were out of town.

Mrs Figg seemed to understand some of what Harry was feeling. She laid a withered hand on his arm. 'I am sorry, dear,' she repeated with a sad little smile. 'But they never would have let you come if they thought you'd enjoyed it… or if they knew we hail from the same world.'

Harry was spared his reply by the arrival of Uncle Vernon, bumbling back into the hall to see to the arrival.

'Arabella,' he said, giving her a stiff nod in greeting. He looked between Harry and Mrs Figg, his expression sullen and resentful. 'Well, best come in then. We're in the sitting room.'

He strode away again ahead of them, leaving Harry and Mrs Figg to follow in his wake.

Somewhat to Harry's surprise, they managed to get through much of the evening without a hitch. Aunt Marge seemed less inclined to berate and ridicule him when there were observers outside the family in attendance, and most of the pre-dinner conversation revolved around her dog breeding business and news from the country. The Dursleys all but ignored Harry. They also spoke only sparingly to Mrs Figg, who sipped contentedly at a glass of sherry Aunt Petunia had begrudgingly offered her and watched the little gathering in bemusement.

At half eight, Petunia announced that dinner was ready, and the party moved into the dining room to eat. Vernon uncorked several bottles of fine wine, and poured healthy measures for all the adults. He had already had to refill Marge's glass by the time Petunia reappeared with the first course.

They ate their way through a delicious salad, then poached salmon with creamed onions and roasted maize. Even Harry, who generally despised anything Aunt Petunia had touched, appreciated the wonderful meal. As did Aunt Marge, who took seconds at every course, and fourths and fifths from the wine.

Harry should have guessed it wouldn't last.

'Excellent nosh, Petunia!' Aunt Marge said heartily, as she scooped more onions onto her plate. 'I was never much of a cook, myself. But then, I usually eat alone – unless Colonel Fubster happens to pop round for supper.' She beamed at Vernon and Dudley, before her nasty eyes found Harry and the smile turned into a leer. 'And the _extra_ mouths must add to your own burden, I'm sure.' She added nastily.

Harry felt a stir of anger, but he forced himself to smile back at Marge. She did not seem mollified.

'Wipe that nasty smirk off your face, boy!' she barked at him. 'You haven't improved much since my last visit, have you? I see that school of yours hasn't yet managed to teach you any proper manners… what's it called again, Vernon?'

Vernon exchanged a panicked look with Aunt Petunia, before clearing his throat hastily. 'We, er – we send him to St. Brutus's, Marge,' he reminded her. 'They deal exclusively with criminal cases.'

Beside him, Harry heard Mrs Figg give a small noise of protest, but Aunt Marge's attention was still fixed on him.

'That's right,' said Aunt Marge, nodding. 'Well, I would have thought they'd be a bit harder with boys like this one. You ought to write, Petunia,' she said, turning her eyes at last from Harry's face. 'Let them know that you heartily approve of caning where this one's concerned. I'll not have any of that soft tosh about using words over force they're always blabbering on about these days… it's a good thrashing that will teach any child their place, you mark my words.'

'Too right, Marge,' Vernon grunted in agreement from the head of the table.

Harry glanced at his uncle out of the corner of his eye, remembering the callous way he had smacked him round the face last July. He could feel the heat of anger swelling inside him, much more insistent. The plate in front of him began to rattle a bit against the table.

A sudden pressure on his wrist caused Harry to glance down in surprise, bringing the clatter of his plate an end. He saw that Mrs Figg's small hand had closed around his in his lap, squeezing it gently. He looked up at her. She met his eyes with a terribly sad expression, but shook her head once, very slightly.

Harry sighed. He must not lose control – it wasn't worth it.

He tried instead to focus on something else – Ron's letter… or perhaps his Occlumency quidditch pitch. But it was growing increasingly difficult to ignore Marge's booming voice, echoing louder and louder with the weight of her many goblets of wine.

'You can't fault yourself for the boy's deficiencies, Petunia, Vernon,' she was saying, as she spread sauce over yet another fillet of fish. 'It's none to do with you. Standard rules of breeding is what it is – just pure genetics. Something's nasty in the bitch, they'll be something nasty in her pups.'

Harry felt something snap inside him, just as the wineglass Aunt Marge had reclaimed from its place on the table exploded in her hand. Bits of glass rained down upon the remains of the dinner, and Marge's already ruddy face was made more purple by the splash of fine Bordeaux now dripping from her cheeks as she sat, frozen in shock.

'My god, Marge!' Vernon cried in horror, leaping at once to his feet. Petunia grabbed a fresh serviette and hurried to join him at Marge's side, wiping away the worst of the spill as Marge found her voice once more.

'No need for fuss, Petunia,' she said, batting her away. 'I'm fine. I did the same thing just last week at Colonel Fubster's place... I can have a very strong grip.'

But Uncle Vernon was glaring at Harry over Marge's shoulder. Though he tried for his most innocent expression, Harry could feel the pulse pounding in his ears.

'Clear the table,' Petunia shot at him, her own eyes suspicious. 'And bring something to sweep up the glass.'

Harry got quickly to his feet, giving the frightened Mrs Figg a fleeting look of apology. He gathered the remains of the dinner from the table carefully, trying to avoid the sharpest shards, and carted the load into the small kitchen. He dumped the lot on the counter by the basin and leaned against it, gripping so hard his knuckles went white. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

He must _not_ lose control. Another hour or so, and Marge would be gone. Two more days, and Harry would be too. He could make it.

The scene had calmed somewhat by the time Harry returned to the dining room. He swept away the remains of the broken glass, while Aunt Petunia brought out the pudding and Uncle Vernon dug an aged bottle of brandy from the sidebar, serving Marge and himself. Mrs Figg accepted a cup of tea from Petunia with a word of thanks, and Harry poured himself a bit more water as he retook his seat, trying to tune out the dreadfully dull conversation on drills that Vernon had started in his absence.

'More brandy, Marge?' offered Uncle Vernon, as Dudley finished up the last of the lemon meringue.

'Oh go on then,' she agreed, sliding her snifter toward him. Vernon refilled hers and his own, and Marge sipped contentedly at the drink. Harry felt his heart sink a bit as she settled back into her chair. He had been very much hoping the evening was drawing to a close at last.

'You'll be a proper sized man, Dudders,' she said in approval, watching him shovel the final few forkfuls of pie into his mouth greedily. 'Just like your father. It runs in the Dursley blood, that does. Excellent breeding, as it were.' She nodded her head at her brother, who topped off her brandy once more.

'Blood is everything,' Marge continued, nodding to herself. 'As I was saying before. Now, I've nothing against you or your family, of course, Petunia,' she gave Aunt Petunia's hand a little pat across the table. 'But your sister… she was a bad one. An outlier. It happens, even in the best of our families. No surprise to you, I suppose, that she ran off with that nasty layabout… and then they went and had this one.' She jerked her head at Harry, who deliberately averted his eyes as he tried to reign in his rising temper again. He could hear Mrs Figg snarling a bit herself at his left. His ears were beginning to ring.

'Unemployed, too, wasn't he, Vernon?' Marge added.

Vernon cleared his throat awkwardly. 'Er – yes. Yes, that's right, Marge.'

'No surprise there,' Marge said huffily. 'A lazy tramp then. A burden to society just like his –'

'That's not true!' Harry shouted, suddenly jumping to his feet. He ignored Mrs Figg's hand on his arm this time, shaking in his outrage as he glared across the table at Marge's fat, stupid face.

'To bed!' Vernon bellowed, looking oddly close to panic. 'Go on now, boy –'

'No, let him speak, Vernon,' Marge countered, fixing Harry with a bloodshot, amused expression. 'Go ahead, boy,' she said. 'Defend him. Proud of your parentage, are you? Think that's something to aspire to? They waste their lives like fools – on the government dole too, I expect – then they go and get themselves killed in a car crash –'

'They did _not_ die in a car crash!' Harry screamed. He was still shaking in fury, and now the very table was vibrating too. Petunia let out a high-pitched squeal of horror, and Dudley's piggy little eyes bugged out from his face like a squeeze doll. Mrs Figg was on her feet as well, whispering urgently in his ear, but Harry did not care. He was glaring at Marge, who leered right back at him.

'They died in a car crash, like the common, no-good fools they were, you stupid little boy!' she screeched, swelling now with her own anger. 'They did not care enough for you to curb their miserable lifestyle, and they left you behind to be a leech on their upstanding, decent –'

But Marge's voice suddenly faded. For one moment, Harry thought she had simply reached so great a level of indignation, it had left her entirely speechless. And then he realised, with a jolt of horror, that Marge Dursley was not swelling with fury. She was just… _swelling_ – blowing up like some macabre balloon before his eyes. Her face was expanding, cheeks puffing up and eyes growing wide and bulbous… the tweed of her suit began to burst as her torso expanded, sending the buttons in all directions as they ripped from their threads… each of her limbs was inflating to the size of tree trunks, as she began to float up and out of her chair.

' _Marge_!' cried Vernon and Petunia together, reaching for her legs as she headed slowly for the ceiling. Dudley still sat staring stupidly, his open mouth ringed with traces of meringue. Mrs Figg's hand had slackened on Harry's forearm as she too watched the scene in wide-eyed astonishment. Ripper was growling and howling, jumping up in an attempt to reach his master. Vernon's bellowed oath rent the room as the dog – unable to seize Marge – clamped down hard on his calf in compromise.

It was all too much.

Harry tore out of the room as quickly as he could, ignoring Mrs Figg's pleading calls for his return and his uncle's continued roaring curses. He took the steps three at a time and threw himself through the door of his bedroom, snatching the holdall from the wardrobe and shoving the few belongings he'd brought from the school back inside. He put his wand hastily into the back pocket of his jeans, grabbed the empty owl cage from the worn desk against the wall, and raced downstairs again.

'YOU COME BACK HERE, BOY!' Vernon shouted, appearing in the doorway from the dining room. Mrs Figg was ushering a faint-looking Petunia into a chair behind him, trying to reassure her, while the dog continued to bark at the floating form of Marge Dursley and Dudley stared, wide-eyed, at the scene. 'YOU GET RIGHT BACK HERE, AND YOU FIX THIS!'

'Harry!' said Mrs Figg, hurrying for him as Harry backed toward the door. 'Harry, it'll be alright. Come and stay with your aunt for a moment. I'll go for help.'

But Harry shook his head, pulling his wand and pointing it at Uncle Vernon as the man made furiously toward him.

'Not another step,' he said, panting in his anger and rush. Vernon stopped short, eying the wand warily. 'She got what she deserved,' Harry said, fumbling on the wood behind him for the handle. She got what was coming to her – carrying on like she was. Don't come near me.'

He turned toward Mrs Figg, keeping the point of the wand trained on his uncle. 'I'm sorry,' he said to her. 'But I can't do it any longer. I've had enough.'

And, locating the handle at last, Harry shot out into the night, reckless rage propelling him down the street.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Albus was just sitting down to a nightcap with Minerva when the floo flared green. She had not yet forgiven him following their disagreement over Harry's summer placement, but he was not above continuing to try.

'Yes?' he called to the flames. Ever since the near-miss with Harry and the Minister last summer, Albus had altered the wards on the network to ensure that none but the Hogwarts staff and a few trusted friends would be able to come in and out at leisure. For all others, he would have to personally answer the call.

To his surprise, Cornelius Fudge's face appeared in the fire, his eyes panicked.

'Albus, it's urgent that I speak with you,' he said at once.

Albus rose immediately. 'Come through, Cornelius,' he said. The Minister was through the floo before the words had even entirely left his lips, twirling his bowler hat anxiously in his hand as he began to pace the hearth in agitation.

'Got the call only an hour or so ago… can't believe it. We've never had a breakout before. They couldn't even tell me if he'd left tonight, might have been gone for hours already…'

'Cornelius,' Albus interrupted. 'Perhaps it would be easier if you explained why you are here?'

'Azkaban has had a breakout, Albus,' the Minister said, stopping in his pacing and looking desperately to the headmaster.

'Impossible!' Minerva cut in, before Albus could reply. 'The fortress has stood impenetrable for hundreds of years. No wizard could breach its protections.'

Albus, who was less sanguine on that score, said nothing. He waited for the Minister to answer.

'I know… I know…' said Fudge distractedly. 'But he has done, Minerva. Sometime between last night and this evening. I've just left the prison myself. Took ages – you know you can't apparate to the island at all? And what a night for broom travel over the North Sea… bitterly cold, and driving rain the whole way. Then, of course, you have to meet with the guards…' he shuddered at the thought.

'Who has escaped, Cornelius?' asked Albus, cutting to the chase.

The Minister swallowed. 'Sirius Black,' he said.

Minerva gasped.

'I know, couldn't have been anyone worse,' Fudge agreed with a grimace. ' _Prophet_ will have a field day – first breakout we've ever had, and we've gone and lost the most dangerous criminal in the place!'

'There was no indication that Black was intending an escape attempt?' asked Albus, watching the Minister closely.

'No… no, none at all,' said Fudge. 'I was up at Azkaban only just Wednesday, you know. Saw Black myself. He's an odd sort, mind. Not at all like you'd expect, twelve years in the place. He was perfectly rational in speaking with me…. Asked for my copy of the paper… but the guards say tonight that he's been talking in his sleep for the past few days. Always the same thing: _He's at Hogwarts_.'

Albus felt his heart grow cold at the words, and Minerva gasped again.

'Well I had to come of course,' Fudge said, still rambling. 'Had to warn you if nothing else. Obviously, we think he's talking about –'

'Harry.' Albus finished, already striding for the floo.

'Dumbledore!' Fudge cried desperately, as Albus reached into the jar of powder on the mantle. 'You can't run off yet! We have to discuss –'

'Our discussion will keep a few hours, Cornelius,' said Albus firmly. 'There are things I must see to at once.'

But the floo burned brightly again before he could even drop the powder.

'Yes,' Albus called again, in more irritation than welcome. A middle-age witch's face appeared in the flames. She looked slightly startled to find the headmaster so close.

'Beg pardon, headmaster, sir,' the witch said in a high-pitched voice. 'But I was told the Minister would be here.'

Albus stepped aside so that Fudge could be seen.

'What is it, Mafalda?' asked Fudge, looking annoyed at the digression.

'Sorry to bother you, sir, but I thought you ought to know that we received a report about half an hour ago of accidental magic in Surrey – at Harry Potter's place of residence. The Magic Reversal Squad has been dispatched to deal with the incident.'

Albus exchanged a swift glance with Minerva. 'What happened?' he said sharply to the woman. She jumped a bit at the urgency.

'Er – an engorgement charm, I believe,' she said. 'There was a Muggle accidentally inflated, from the sound of it. But the thing is, Harry Potter was not there when the Ministry arrived. It seems he's run off.'

'Albus!' hissed Minerva, looking stricken.

'Thank you for delivering this news, Ms Hopkirk,' said the headmaster smoothly. 'Unfortunately, I have an urgent need to use this floo, so if you do not mind…'

'Oh! Of course, sir,' the little witch said quickly. And she pulled her head swiftly away again.

'Cornelius, I do apologise but I must go,' said Albus, throwing a handful of powder into the flames. 'Minerva can discuss the next steps with you, if you like, or I can find you later tonight upon my return.'

'Albus!' Minerva broke in, looking mutinous. 'I'm not intending to –'

'I shall enlist Severus' help in this, Minerva,' he assured her with a significant look. 'Do not worry. See to the Minister, if you would.'

'But… but Albus!' Cornelius sputtered indignantly. 'What about the Potter boy? If he's left his aunt and uncles – '

'I shall take care of it,' Albus assured him. 'Good evening, Cornelius.'

And he stepped hurriedly into the flames.


	3. Magnolia Crescent

**A/N:** Thank you all again for your readership and reviews! There are comments in response this time (below), and some are quite lengthy again. Please feel free to skip over and to the story if you don't wish to read them or be (potentially) exposed to spoilers.

 **Leonore** : Yes, we will definitely see more of 31 October 1981, including the confrontation between Sirius and Peter, from several PoVs before the end of the book, I promise you… but giving it all away in the first chapter would have been a bit much, I fear. I wanted to keep the focus right now on Sirius and Severus and their reactions and feelings on that night, which are so similar in many ways… especially in their recognition of their own guilt for the tragedy that befell their friends. That sentiment plays heavily into both of their characters' development.

 **babascoop** : Thank you for your review and comments! Remus… I've been excited to work a little more with him through this story (and the last). He intrigues me in a lot of ways. Obviously he's sort of the epitome of 'gentle beast'… but there seems to be so much more. He shares some similarity with Harry in that he cannot always see the good in himself, but he has little of the almost over-decisiveness that Harry often shows. I've always found it odd – and a little disturbing – that he waltzes onto the scene when Harry is 13 in canon, though he was so close to his parents for so many years, and probably would have met Harry as a child. Sirius apparently suspected that Remus was the traitor before Voldemort's fall, which certainly suggests that he was quite involved with the order and likely still in regular contact with the Potters at the time. He's also very guarded and ashamed of his secret, often unsure about his own actions and worth, and later even second-guesses his marriage… all interesting clues to his personality, in my opinion.

So I chose to keep him somewhat guarded right now with Harry – all roses and sunshine, for the moment. The kindest interpretation of this would be that Remus hopes to shelter Harry from the more unpleasant aspects of war, and his own past; a more realistic one might be that he doesn't want to speak about it himself, or remember. He's been running from his demons for over a decade. Of course, if Remus is around him closely for the rest of the summer… we'll see whether that has an effect on Harry – he's quite an observant child, after all. Remus might find it more difficult to keep information from him for long. And Sirius had not escaped (or, at least, the world did not realise it) before Remus left the Dursleys… so for now he is in the box of things that Remus would rather not discuss with Harry. Harry is also still in the innocent chapter of his youth – blissfully unaware of the worst of things… as I think you've mentioned in a previous post, that glass wall is bound to crumble at some point this year. How Harry will react when it does… we'll see.

:) the coming of the Messiah line… yes, in a way, that is dually fitting here.

I _love_ Bill Weasley. He's a bad-ass. And I do think Ron looks up to him, in a way that's very different than his other relationships. He turns to Bill for advice and example, and Bill is always (in what we see of him in canon) very receptive and protective toward Ron. I have an idea where we might go with him, but I won't reveal it just yet…

Arabella… she's interesting too. A well-meaning character, but also completely oblivious in many ways. And was she really the best choice for a substitute minder? She's much more limited than a wizard or witch would be in her ability to counter magical crisis, and her ability to get word quickly to the wizarding world… though nobody was anticipating the Sirius complication, her limitations will certainly have an effect on the coming events.

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter Three: Magnolia Crescent**

 _He's at Hogwarts_.

 _He's at Hogwarts._

 _He's at Hogwarts._

The thought permeated his mind constantly – a mental mantra that he could not shake, could not fix, could not alter.

 _He's at Hogwarts_.

It was burning in his brain. In his waking hours, he fingered the newspaper page obsessively, though he knew the words by heart. The page grew worn and smudged beneath his hands.

 _He's at Hogwarts_.

It was in his dreams too, though he hardly remembered what dreams were, these days. He hadn't quite gone mad, he didn't think, but the days usually blended into one another in an unending, hazy cloud. He could not even be sure his concept of day and night was truly on – it had been years since he'd seen the sun… but the Dementors were always more active in the darkness. And the darkness seemed to last longer on this forsaken island.

 _He's at Hogwarts_.

Dreams reclaimed him the night Fudge gave him the paper. Not good dreams… not happy ones. But dreams nonetheless. Dreams of rats and stags; wolves and dogs… dreams of forests and castles; derelict shacks and blow-apart houses… dreams of tearful green eyes and dead bodies.

 _He's at Hogwarts_.

The dreams and the thoughts stirred something in him – made him stronger. They gave him the energy to scheme – awakening long-stifled ambitions. It wasn't hope… not exactly. Hope, like happiness, compassion and excitement, was quickly doused in this place. But ambition he could use; desperation he could mould and twist; they could not take pure facts from him.

 _He's at Hogwarts_.

So he practised. Three days straight. Every time they brought a meal. He knew he was thin enough to slip past… as long as they didn't sense him leaving. And it was so much harder for them to sense his emotions – to gauge his existence – if he wasn't human.

They were not suspicious. He thought perhaps it was a product of their role. They expected him to fade, to lose his sense of self… like so many others had in Azkaban.

But Sirius Black was different. He always had been.

On the fourth night after Fudge's miraculous visit, Sirius took his shot. He'd spent most of the past few days transformed – saving his energy and plotting his chance. There would be only one opportunity to make this work. He could not afford to be careless.

When the evening guard circled round with his supper, he was ready. He stood motionless just inside the door, hugging the wall in his dog's body, scarcely breathing. He waited for the Dementors to open the bars of his cell, gliding soundlessly inside with the meal. And in that stretch of a heartbeat, he slipped past.

He padded as quickly and silently as he could down the stretch of stone corridor – a walk he had not taken in almost twelve years. He prayed he could remember how to get out of the maze of cells. Nobody was glancing through their little rectangles of window at him – they were too focused on the food delivery, or else – perhaps – too far gone to notice anything outside the compressing darkness of their minds.

At last, he reached the long staircase. He bounded up as quick as he dared, and met with the iron bars of the gate to the dungeons. These were no problem – the gaps between them far wide enough for his emaciated form to slip through.

And he did – quickening his pace as he made for the fortress's way out. He picked carefully through the corridors even in his haste for freedom, worried that the prison guards might be more prevalent above the ground. But he was lucky – he only passed two additional sightless horrors along the route.

The great oak and iron doors were sealed when Sirius reached them, unsurprisingly. He tried in vain to turn the handle with a paw, but the charm upon them would not give way. Frantic, he shot a look around him, half-certain that his attempt would rouse some alarm. But there was no answering mass of hovering Dementors.

Sirius pondered his options. He had no wand. The doors of the cells were so deeply enchanted that even wizards proficient in wandless magic could not hope to release the spells. And even if they managed to succeed in the impossible task, the highest security wings – like the one Sirius had been imprisoned in – had round-the-clock guards stationed at every cell. Escape in wizard form would be impossible. _Well_ … _nearly so_.

But the entryway…

Surely, Ministry officials and other visitors would need to come and go from the fortress? There were aurors too, who paid visits every other week or so. During the war, Sirius knew the auror office had kept a rotating team at the prison round the clock – he himself had taken several tours of duty here. He did not remember the front doors having any sort of special enchantment then.

With a silent prayer and as much determination as he could muster, Sirius poured a massive amount of energy at the doors, willing his dormant magic into service. A decade or so ago, this would have been an easy feat; but his skills were long hampered by lack of use and oppression, and it had always been harder in his animagus form.

Incredibly, Sirius heard the muffled click of a lock giving way. Ignoring the exhaustion from his wandless effort, he hurriedly made for the handle again, pressing experimentally on the iron. The door swung open.

Sirius darted through at once, pushing lightly to avoid a clamour as he resealed the entrance. He didn't bother expending the energy to relock it – the Dementors would never notice it, and by the time any wizard came back to this place, they would know he was missing. Instead, he turned his back on the mass of stone and iron, and bounded as fast as his legs would carry him toward the crash of surf against the rocks below.

He took a reckless leap off the edge of the seawall, relishing the salty whip of the air as he plummeted into the sea below. It was frigid and incredibly rough, but he could not care. The setting sun beamed scarlet off the endless expanse of water – the first sign of daylight he had seen since twenty-two. And as he re-emerged from the plunge, Sirius felt truly alive again for the first time in just as long.

It was as if the water had been baptismal – washing away a lifetime of heartbreak and despair. Sirius did not forget his depression… oh no. But he remembered the good things too – the memories that the Dementors' darkness had stolen from him for more than a decade. For a moment, he simply treaded water in place, lost in the stunning barrage of beautiful thoughts. He remembered James' fierce loyalty, and Remus' kind patience. He remembered Lily's playful smile and her dancing red hair. He remembered the warm touch of a woman in his bed, and the reckless abandon of a night on the town untampered by tragedy and loss. He remembered Dumbledore's twinkling eyes, Minerva's stern lectures even while she fought to hide amusement; Alice's delicious cooking and Frank's easy manners. He remembered Euphemia's sweetness, and Fleamont's compassion. He remembered Harry's tinkling laugh, like soft bells on the air.

Harry.

 _He's at Hogwarts._

Sirius shook himself from his wonder of recollections. He could not afford to be side-tracked – not now. He must move.

He set off at once, charting a course through the waves in the direction he imagined England to be. It was slow-going, and he grew very tired as the night began to fall in earnest. It had been many years since he'd had true physical exercise – and even in this form his atrophied muscles protested the exertion most heartily. But Sirius soldiered on, trying not to think of the ever expansive sea or the possible dangers that lurked beneath her surface. He paused every hour or so, allowing the currents to float him a while and rest his aching legs. He could not stop. Even if he was lucky enough not to drown in the depths of the water, his absence at the fortress would not go unnoticed for long. At some point, the Dementors would come.

The night dragged on, unyielding and unchanging. All around him was darkness and black, even the smattering of stars obscured by clouds that threatened to storm. Sirius began to worry that he would never find the shore – or that he'd leapt from the wrong side of the fortress, and would end up somewhere in Germany, Denmark, or even Norway. He'd thought he'd set off northwest in his flight… but he did not trust his own thoughts enough to be sure.

At last, at long last, he saw a light. Shore.

He wasn't sure what it was – it was impossible to tell from so far out. Perhaps a lighthouse: the light seemed to circle before his eyes, like a shifting beacon calling out to sailors. Sirius – exhausted and spent from his overnight swim – focused in upon it with gritted determination, allowing its beam to guide him in.

It was much farther than he'd thought. By the time he drew close, the eerie, cold light that preceded dawn had begun to aid the beam of the lantern. Sirius could see, now, that it _was_ a lighthouse, set atop a cliff at the edge of a rocky beach. He redoubled his efforts, willing himself toward the shore with the last of his energy, promising his body that it could rest once it touched the sand.

He pulled himself wearily onto the shore at last, his fur heavy with the sea water and his legs unsteady. The long stretch of beach was deserted, but Sirius felt very vulnerable out in the open like this. If the Dementors were alerted to his absence, he would do better under more cover than the sand would afford.

So instead of dropping where he left the sea, Sirius trudged between the cliffs toward the lighthouse. Wizards had no need of such Muggle aids, so it was unlikely the property was owned by anyone who might know him. Even if it were, he was safe as Padfoot.

The lighthouse was very old, and even the cold dawning light and the fresh red and white paint job could not hide a lingering aura of neglect and derelict. There was a keeper's cottage set adjacent, but Sirius was fairly certain that the occupants would be unable to detect his presence. The steady light of the porch lamp also confirmed his suspicion that the house was Muggle-owned. There was no hint of magic in the place.

His bones aching with exhaustion, Sirius nosed his way into a little whitewashed shed alongside the lighthouse. He thought perhaps this had once been a paraffin house, by the lingering scent still present in the small space. Now, it seemed the lighthouse keepers stored a few garden tools and cleaning supplies in the outbuilding. There were several tarps folded neatly in a corner, and Sirius collapsed onto them, curling up in his makeshift bed.

He would stay here a few hours, regain some strength, and set out for Scotland on the morrow.

Closing his heavy eyes, he drifted off to the sound of the waves.

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In his dreams, he heard a child's laugh.

Harry?

He responded automatically to the sound, straining his ears… willing the voice closer.

'What'd I tell you?' came the child's voice. 'It's a man – kipping on the tarps.'

Sirius frowned in his slumber. Harry's voice was not yet that deep– not that old. He couldn't speak in such sentences. And he was…

'Go on back and wait with Granny, Alfred,' a much older man's voice replied. It certainly wasn't James.

Sirius' thoughts reforming, he opened his eyes slowly, even while a rough hand began to shake his shoulder. His eyes popped open to see a rough, weather-worn and heavily bearded face peering down at him. The man was in his mid-sixties, give or take, with the tough hands of one who saw regular physical labour and kindly, concerned brown eyes.

'Good morning,' said the man, seeing Sirius was awake.

'Where am I?' Sirius rasped, coming to a bit more as the man helped him to sit up. The sound of his own voice startled him to alertness at once – he hadn't realised he'd shifted back in his sleep. He was instantly on alert… if the Ministry was looking for him already, he could not afford to be in the open as a wizard. He made to stand at once, but smacked his head hard against the low roof of the paraffin house.

'Easy there,' the man said in sympathy, reaching out a hand to steady Sirius again as he swayed on his feet, fighting the stars that had popped up in his vision. 'This is Happisburgh, in Norfolk,' the man added helpfully.

Sirius was surprised. Much farther south than he'd anticipated ending up. The currents must have carried him more than he'd thought. He'd been hoping for somewhere closer to Scarborough, or even Grimsby. He knew Azkaban was at Silverpit crater… it should have been a straight enough shot.

'You English?' the man asked, shaking Sirius from his contemplation again and holding out a fresh bottle of water.

'Yes,' Sirius rasped out. He accepted the water from the man gratefully, twisting off the cap and taking a long pull. The salt of the ocean had left his throat parched and his head aching, and the drink felt like heaven on his tongue. 'From London, originally,' he added.

The man looked surprised.

'Not many seafaring folk come up from London these days,' he observed. 'Not round these parts, anyway.'

'No, I expect not,' said Sirius, distracted. He needed to be gone from here, and quickly.

'Listen – I appreciate the help. Sorry to kip in your shed like that – must have been out of my senses last night.'

'It's not a bother,' said the man with a kind smile. 'It's not the first time, though I admit it's been a fair few years. Every once in a while, we get some of the local teenagers gone and had a bit of summer fun on the beach and stumbled up in a haze and not able to make it home. Had a few sailors too, a time or two. I figure you've got to be in the latter group – that poncho you've got on. Plus, you look a tad old for university. You get stranded out there?'

He nodded toward Sirius' attire when Sirius' expression remained confused. He realised that the man was referring to his tattered robes, which had mercifully made the transformation back with his body.

'Er – yes, sort of,' Sirius allowed. 'It wasn't yet dawn and I had to swim in – I apologise,' he added again.

The man nodded sympathetically. 'She on the sand, or did you lose her?' he asked, looking sad. Sirius merely stared blankly back. 'Your boat?' the man prompted, starting to look suspicious.

'Er – it was taken by the sea,' Sirius said, hoping this explanation made sense. The man shook his head with feeling, and Sirius relaxed a bit.

'A shame,' the man offered, squeezing his shoulder. 'These parts are quite rocky. Sea's claimed hundreds over the years. And the water was rough last night. You didn't pick the best evening for travel,' he noted.

'Yes,' Sirius agreed. 'It was unfortunate.'

The man nodded again, now offering a hand to help him off the tarp once more.

'Can I call someone for you?' the man offered, once Sirius was standing (though stooped this time). 'Or maybe take you down to the village?'

'Er – no, thank you, that's alright.' Sirius said quickly. 'I don't mind the walk.'

The man looked uncertain, but recognised the determination in Sirius' expression.

'Alright,' he agreed, reaching out a hand to help him to the door. 'But at least let me give you a bit to eat before you head off – you look half-starved already.'

'Er –' Sirius was worried. This place was fairly remote, but he could not stand to stay too long in his human form. Still, the prospect of actual food was too tempting to ignore. 'Alright then,' he agreed. The man smiled, and showed him toward the little keeper's cottage.

A plump, short woman greeted them at the door, a red apron tied around her waist and smiling happily at his companion – her husband, Sirius assumed. She was holding a young sandy-haired boy by the wrist. The child stared at Sirius as he followed the man into the house, apparently fascinated.

'Why were you sleeping in the shack, mister?' the boy asked eagerly, as the old man showed Sirius into a seat at a round kitchen table.

'Mind your manners, Alfred!' the little woman scolded, placing a steaming cup of tea before Sirius. 'I do apologise,' she added to him, pushing a sugar bowl and a jug of milk within reach. 'He's only six – he hasn't learned to control his curiosity just yet.'

Sirius smiled. 'It's not a problem,' he assured her, reaching eagerly for the tea. 'It is I who is intruding on his home, after all, and I do thank you for your generosity,' he added.

The woman waived off his gratitude easily, pouring tea for herself and her husband as well.

'I don't believe I've introduced myself,' the man said, taking his own seat at the opposite end of the table. 'I'm Eddie – Eddie Philips. This is my wife, Joanna, and our grandson, Alfred.'

Sirius nodded, while the little boy gave a shy wave as his name was announced. 'I'm, er,' Sirius hesitated. It would not do to introduce himself properly. 'James,' he said instead. 'James Mooney.'

'A pleasure to meet you, James,' Joanna replied, smiling at him.

Sirius stayed an hour or so in the keeper's cottage, relishing in the food and company. It had been so many years since he'd lived like this – eaten at a proper table, talked in normal conversation with people who did not think him a murderous criminal. Joanna heaped piles of eggs and sausages onto his plate, and Alfred asked endless questions about his 'adventures' on the sea – most of which Sirius had to concoct the answers to.

When he finally stood to go, Eddie tried again to implore him to accept a lift to the village. Sirius begged off the offer, but did ask one final question as he made to take his leave.

'What's the date, do you know?' he asked.

Eddie looked surprised. 'The fourth,' he answered.

'Of July?' Sirius clarified, furrowing his brow. Eddie looked unnerved.

'Yes…' he said hesitantly. He gave Sirius a critical once-over. 'Listen, James, are you quite sure you're feeling well? Sometimes it's difficult to know whether you're injured after an accident like that… especially if you've hit your head. I can phone into the village for a doctor if you need –'

'Oh no, I'm quite alright,' Sirius insisted, trying for a smile. 'I do thank you for your kindness. If you would just point me toward the village, I'll be on my way.'

Eddie looked reluctant, but he obliged, indicating the direction with a gnarled finger. Sirius gave a small bow, and set off along the path.

The day was sunny but still cool with the breeze off the sea, even though it was quickly coming on midday. Sirius felt quite exposed again as he made his way through the countryside. He would have to remember that exhaustion might pull him from his animagus form on this journey… it would not do to rest again where he might be discovered by passing men – even Muggles. He wouldn't put it past the Ministry to have people hunting him already. He waited until he'd rounded a bend and the little cottage was out of sight, then ducked quickly off the path into the underbrush to transform.

As Padfoot, he felt much more at ease. He could also travel more quickly, setting off toward the village at a comfortable trot. He needed a plan. Eddie had said it was the fourth – 4 July. That meant he had almost two months to go until the start of the Hogwarts term. The article had said that the family was away for the holiday – gone to Egypt to visit their son. He could not get there; the risk of international travel would be immense, and even were he willing to take the risk, he'd have to cross the channel, the continent, and the Mediterranean Sea to enter the country… then he'd have to discover where the family had gone. By the time he'd managed that, it was more than likely they'd be gone again. No… his best chance was to head for the school, and wait out the weeks in the forest.

But perhaps he'd make a detour first – spin out some of the time.

Norfolk was not so far from Surrey… not really, maybe half a day's journey on foot. Faster, if he was able to slip onto a coach or lorry for part of the trip. And he knew Petunia Dursley's address – had learned it years ago. Harry should be there for the summer. He could go there first, just to see him, before starting the long journey north to the castle.

Reaching the main road, Sirius set off for the south. If he was quick, he might get to the house tonight.

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Severus was at his leisure that evening, sitting alone in his study and perusing a copy of the latest issue of _The Practical Potioneer_ , when his fireplace suddenly flared green and deposited a harried-looking Albus Dumbledore.

'What is it, headmaster?' asked Severus immediately, putting the journal aside as he caught sight of Dumbledore's fearful expression.

'Severus,' the headmaster said anxiously. 'Harry is missing – he ran away from his aunt and uncle's house not half an hour or so ago.'

Severus relaxed again. From the headmaster's countenance, he'd thought someone had died. He gave Albus a sardonic raised eyebrow.

'Hardly surprising, Albus,' he said dismissively. 'And even I cannot blame him. You send him to those vicious people, with the _wolf_ ,' he spat the word, 'for companionship. It is only a miracle he managed to last this long. I would have expected –'

' _Severus_ ,' the headmaster interrupted in a ringing tone. The Potions master cut himself off, eying Dumbledore warily. 'This is not the time to reopen the debate as to the sagacity of that decision. I have just been informed that Harry performed accidental magic at the Dursley residence – apparently an engorgement charm. He was gone when the Ministry arrived to sort out the damage. But Cornelius has just been to see me… it seems that Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban prison, sometime between last night and this evening.'

Severus jumped immediately to his feet, feeling as though he'd just received a heavy blow to his stomach. _No, it could not be_.

' _What!?_ ' he cried, staring incredulously at Albus. 'That is impossible,' he spat. 'The fortress is impenetrable. Nobody has ever escaped its walls before – and much more accomplished wizards than _Black_ have been imprisoned there.'

'I know,' Albus admitted heavily. 'But it has happened. Cornelius went himself to Azkaban tonight to see to the situation. He is still upstairs, with Minerva.'

Snape shook his head again, still groping for the sense in this ridiculous pronouncement. 'But – headmaster, Sirius Black has been a prisoner for nearly twelve years. If he was plotting an escape, why weaken himself so thoroughly and for so long before making the attempt?

'I do not know, Severus,' Albus said wearily. 'But the Dementors claim he has been muttering in his sleep for several nights – saying "He's at Hogwarts."'

Severus paused in his agitated pacing, shooting a calculating glare at the headmaster. 'You believe he intends to come for the boy?' he asked.

'Yes,' Albus agreed gravely. 'If he left the fortress last night, he might already be in Surrey.'

'What of the wolf?' Severus spat. 'Can't he make himself useful? How did he let the boy slip out from under his watch anyway?'

'It is the full moon, Severus,' Albus reminded him. 'Remus is indisposed tonight, and will be for many hours to come. Arabella Figg was substituting for him at the Dursleys this evening.'

Severus gave a mirthless laugh. 'The squib?' he clarified, incredulous. 'You set a squib to watch over a magical child who _always_ manages to get himself into inconceivable trouble? That's daring – even for you, Albus.'

'Arabella is trustworthy and loyal, Severus,' Albus disagreed with a frown. 'She would do anything for Harry.'

'She also left him in that mess for more than ten years without raising the alarm, Albus,' Severus reminded him viciously. 'I question her judgment, at the very least.'

Albus frowned, but did not comment further. Instead, he brushed an impatient hand through the air. 'We have little time to waste,' he said, redirecting the conversation. 'If Harry has left the protection of his mother's blood…'

'Does he have his broom with him?' Severus asked.

'No, only clothing for the week and his owl.'

'Then he cannot be far,' Severus mused. 'Go, Albus. I shall join you in canvassing the area in a moment.'

'Thank you, Severus,' Albus breathed. And he swept from the dungeons immediately.

Severus waited a moment, gathering his churning thoughts. _Black_ … Severus hated him – had always hated him, from their very first encounter on the Hogwarts Express. Black had gone out of his way to make his life miserable for seven years – he, and Potter, and the wolf, and that smarmy little would-be hero, Peter Pettigrew. Black had been handsome and clever and reasonably talented… but he was nowhere near the same league as Severus. The Potions master very much doubted that he would have the skill or the brains to plot an escape from the impenetrable Azkaban. And yet… he had.

But _how?_ With Dark Arts? Severus doubted it. There were very few aspects of the darkest magic that Severus himself did not know, and even fewer that he could see aiding a wizard – especially one with no particular skill in wandless magic – to escape the most heavily guarded island in the magical world. It seemed highly unlikely… no matter how well the traitor had concealed his allegiance to the Dark Lord. An allegiance that still stunned Severus – and one he could _never_ forgive. It was Sirius Black who had caused him years of grief and isolation at school. Sirius Black who had nearly killed him as a teenager. Sirius Black who had murdered three of his own best friends, and an entire Muggle street to boot. And Sirius Black… who had stolen Lily Evans from the world just as completely as Severus himself had done with his foolishness. It was _Sirius Black_ who had revealed her location – Sirius Black who had signed her death warrant.

He would kill him, if he got the chance.

And now… Black was after the boy.

And the boy was lost – exposed in the Muggle world. Without the protection that Lily had provided, he would be easy prey for Black. Dumbledore would find him eventually, of that Severus had no doubt. But Black… if he was using the dark arts, there were more efficient ways. Magics that Dumbledore would not dare to use; that no light wizard would consider.

It was lucky, for Potter, that Severus Snape considered himself firmly in the grey.

Severus swept from the study, heading for his personal lab. He perused the long shelves of glittering jars, searching for the one he'd kept for twelve years… the one with the long, dark red hairs. He located it at last, hidden away in the back of the third row. Gingerly, he unsealed the lid and extracted one long hair with the tip of his wand, careful not to disturb the remainder. He guided it gently across the room and set it on the long table. Then he summoned a small, pure gold cauldron from the far corner of hanging tools, prodding the flames beneath it to heat the metal. He waited until the gold was just short of boiling, then ran a long silver knife across his palm, spraying the interior of the cauldron with scarlet blood. It sizzled off the burning metal, an acrid smell of burnt flesh permeating the air. The odour turned Severus' stomach, but he clamped down on his revulsion. Instead, he sealed the cut and summoned dragon scale and essence of yew sap from his stores, stirring in the ingredients as methodically and precisely as he always did. When the mixture turned a deep black, he fingered the precious strand of hair, savouring its smoothness for just a moment before dropping it gently into the open cauldron. The potion glowed brightly as the hair touched the surface, then faded into an opalescent blue.

'Ostende mihi, quid me quaeritis,' Severus chanted, his face only centimetres above the shimmering surface. He closed his eyes, and inhaled the fumes.

A hazy image came into his mind – a darkened street, and a young, pale-faced boy, seated upon a low garden wall. Potter was not moving, but staring around him with a defeated, hopeless sort of expression. Severus planted the image firmly in his memory, solidifying as many of the details as he could behind his lids. Then he opened his eyes, leaning back from the intoxicating fumes of the cauldron. There was a hint of sweet, flowery scent in the dungeon air now – Lily's scent. Severus forced himself to banish the contents of the brew, a pang renting his chest as the potion vanished into nonbeing. But it would not do for Albus, or anyone else, to know what he had invoked this night.

Severus sent the golden cauldron to the basin with a careless flick of his wand, already striding for the door. He slipped silently out into the grounds, and made quickly for the gates and the limits of the anti-apparition wards.

He had no regrets, as he spun on the spot into nothingness, focused firmly on the image of Potter he'd seen in his mind.

It was worth it. For her.

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Harry lugged his holdall and Hedwig's cage down the Dursleys' path, fuming. He could hear Mrs Figg still arguing with his uncle just inside the door, but he tuned it out, allowing his anger and frustration to carry his feet from the house as quickly as he could.

He took the first turn he came upon, and then another – hoping that the winding course would keep him from discovery if the Dursleys or Mrs Figg came looking for him. He'd been gone at least half an hour when he finally stopped, sinking onto a garden wall halfway down Magnolia Crescent. He could still feel the sparks of temper flaring inside him, compounding with the searing burn in his left arm from hauling the baggage all this way. His wand he'd kept clutched tightly in his right hand – even though he could not use it. If he did, he'd be in trouble with the Ministry again.

The Ministry…

Harry felt a surge of panic strong enough to douse the flames of anger that had consumed him. _How_ could he have forgotten? Magic like he'd just done to Aunt Marge… the Ministry would know. They probably knew already – it had taken far less time than this for the warning to come last summer. And this time, Harry might not get a warning. That had been serious magic – way more serious than a hover charm cast on a pudding. _And_ they would think it was the second time he'd flouted the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery in as many years.

They would expel him.

Harry's panic began to mount. If he was expelled, then he would not be able to go back to the castle… Where would he go? What would he do? He was stranded in the middle of the Muggle world, completely alone in the darkness. If he did magic again, the Ministry wizards would be able to find him at once; he was surprised they hadn't already. He glanced nervously up and down the street, half certain that figures in official robes would appear swooping out of the night. But the street was quite deserted, apart from himself.

What would happen to him, if they came? Would he end up like Hagrid – wand snapped in two, forced to watch from the periphery as his friends became qualified wizards and he was left behind? Would he be _arrested_ for the magic he'd done? Harry felt numb with fear as he contemplated that… was this offence bad enough to send him to Azkaban?

He could not go. He _would_ not go. He hadn't done it on purpose… well, not _really_. He'd just lost control. Surely Dumbledore would understand that – would stick up for him with the Ministry.

 _Dumbledore_.

Harry felt a sudden rush of chagrin… and a bit of anger, again. Dumbledore would not be happy that Harry had run off recklessly into the night. But Dumbledore had also sent him back in the first place – Dumbledore was the reason Harry had been there to lose control at all. If he could just contact the headmaster though…

His eyes flew to Hedwig's empty cage. If only he had the owl, he could write to Hogwarts. Surely, the headmaster would not leave him in this mess. He might already know: if Mrs Figg or the Ministry had been able to contact him by now. Which meant he might be coming for Harry at this moment… which meant that Harry had been utterly thick in running off, where nobody would be able to find him.

Harry sighed as he thought it through. He could not go back to his aunt and uncle's house: he wouldn't risk running into the Ministry, or a furious Uncle Vernon. But perhaps he ought to go lie low at Mrs Figg's… she was sure to know a way to contact Hogwarts, at the very least. And Dumbledore would be able to help him now.

He could not stay on this garden wall forever.

Harry hopped to his feet again, stooping to retrieve the holdall and the cage. But before he had grasped the handle, he paused, straightening slowly up again with his wand vibrating in his grasp. A strange sensation was running down his spine, prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. He couldn't tell exactly how he knew… but he was certain he was no longer alone in the street.

Someone – or something – was watching him.

He darted his eyes around, trying to squint through the darkness. There were no lights glinting in the blackened windows of the houses. The occupants of Magnolia Crescent were clearly asleep, or perhaps holidaymaking. For a moment, Harry thought perhaps he was being paranoid. But then his roaming eyes caught sight of something – lurking in the gap between the darkened garage of the house behind him and the neighbouring chain-link fence. Harry narrowed his eyes at the black mass, trying to discern what it was.

' _Lumos_ ,' he said quietly. The tip of his wand ignited, sending a beam of light through the alleyway. The wandlight illuminated the black, huddled form, and Harry caught a glimpse of wide, gleaming grey eyes.

He jumped back, startled.

His heel caught on a corner of the pavement, and he fell – hard – over the kerb and into the street. His wand flew from his hand as he flung out his arms, trying to save his face from impact with the ground. Harry had a brief moment of panic as he watched it skitter across the pavement, coming very close to slipping through a drain hole set into the gutter.

Then, several things happened in quick succession.

Harry slammed forcefully into the street, feeling the skin of his hands and knees of his jeans rip painfully. The next second, he was forced to roll backward into the gutter as, with an ear-splitting BANG and a dazzling burst of light, a purple _bus_ popped out of nowhere, its wheels coming to rest exactly where Harry's head had been lying on the street. Then, even over the shock of the bus's appearance and the burning sting in his hands, he registered a familiar voice calling

' _Potter_!'

Before Harry could shake himself from his frozen state of shock, Professor Snape had reached him. How he had found him or where he had come from, Harry had no idea. But Snape took hold of Harry under the arms and hoisted him roughly to his feet again, just as a teenage conductor with prominent ears and a very pimply face jumped out of the open doors of the bus.

'Welcome to the Knight –' the conductor began in a practised voice, but Snape cut him off at once.

'Yes, thank you, Mr Shunpike, but we have no need of your services tonight,' he said firmly.

The conductor stopped his introduction, but looked in confusion between Snape and Harry. 'Er – but you flagged us down, dincha? You stuck out your wand 'and and all, dincha?'

Snape looked distinctly annoyed now. 'A mistake,' he said smoothly. 'You may leave us.'

But the young man's eyes were on Harry now, his mouth slightly open. Harry saw, with a feeling of trepidation, that Shunpike's gaze was focused on the scar upon his forehead.

'Woss that – there on your 'ead?' he asked, pointing a freckled finger at the scar. Harry flattened his fringe nervously, but he knew it was too late.

'Oi, Ern!' the conductor shouted over his shoulder. 'Ern, come 'ere! It's 'Arry –'

The man broke off again, as Snape held the tip of his wand furiously against Shunpike's protruding Adam's apple. He turned back to face the murderous professor, now looking terrified.

'Professor!' Harry cried in shock, stepping forward. But Snape shot out his other hand to stop him.

'Quiet!' he barked at Harry over his shoulder, never removing his gaze from the conductor's face. 'If you shout his name,' he said in a low voice to the terrified teenager, 'I swear, you will not live to see the morning.'

'I – alrigh' sir,' the boy said, beads of sweat appearing at his temples. 'I won' say nofink, I won'.'

Snape nodded, and slowly removed the wand. 'Leave us,' he said to the conductor.

Shunpike nodded, already hopping backward into the bus. The doors slid shut behind him, and the purple bus shot off again, careening around the corner at the end of the street and away into the night.

Snape turned to Harry, who felt nearly as terrified as Shunpike had looked. He was sure that he was about to be murdered for his reckless behaviour tonight – always Snape's least favourite quality in Harry. But Snape surprised him. His eyes raked over Harry's dishevelled appearance, taking in the bleeding hands and the ripped jeans.

'Where is your wand?' he asked. His voice sounded strained and tense, but not particularly angry. Harry bent down and retrieved the holly and phoenix feather wand from its precarious place on the edge of the drain. Snape nodded in satisfaction.

'Keep it out,' he told Harry, his own eyes darting around the empty street. 'How did you come to fall over?'

Harry whipped his head around – remembering suddenly. The alleyway seemed to be deserted now, no sign remaining of the massive black beast. When he turned back, he saw a streak of silver light darting away from Snape's wand into the night.

'Er – I thought I saw something, sir, in the gap over there,' Harry explained, gesturing to the alley with his wand-free hand. 'It startled me.'

To his shock, Snape grabbed him immediately by the shoulder, spinning him close to his side while he trained a beam of light from his own wand into the gap Harry had indicated. It appeared to be empty.

'What did you see?' Snape asked through gritted teeth. Harry shrugged.

'I'm not exactly sure,' he admitted. 'It looked like a dog, maybe, but massive.'

Snape's eyes narrowed as he continued to scan the alley and the surrounding gardens. No beast emerged from the shadows, but neither did the professor release his grip on Harry's shoulder.

At last, Snape turned from his examination of their surroundings and looked down at Harry again. His face was inscrutable, and Harry felt his nerves begin to rise once more.

'You have had a rough night, Potter,' Snape observed, raising an eyebrow.

'Er, yes sir,' Harry agreed, surprised again that he wasn't being screamed at. 'I've had worse though,' he admitted.

Snape snorted. Whether in doubt or agreement, Harry wasn't sure.

'What was that spell, sir?' Harry asked, thinking back on the odd light. 'The one you did with the silver?'

Snape looked sideways at Harry. 'A message,' he said curtly. 'For Professor Dumbledore. He is looking for you as well.'

Harry felt a thrill of mixed elation and anxiety. 'Is he coming here?' he asked eagerly.

'No,' Snape replied. 'We will meet him at Hogwarts.'

'So – so I'm not expelled then, sir?' Harry asked worriedly. Snape eyed him for a moment with an odd expression on his face.

'No,' he said simply. 'You are not. Now, if you'll take my arm, Potter, I believe you are aware of how side-along apparition works?'

Harry nodded and reached up to grasp Snape's proffered forearm, but at that moment they were interrupted.

A snarling black beast leapt suddenly out of the bushes, baring massive teeth and growling murderously at the pair of them. Harry thought the creature was something between wolf and bear – with long dark fur and hackles raised along its back. Coming to rest on the grass mere feet from them, it circled the professor and Harry slowly, eyeing them like a lion stalking a cornered doe. Harry recognised the unusual grey eyes – this was what had been watching him from the alleyway.

Snape swore loudly, throwing Harry behind him with one hand and aiming his wand at the beast with the other.

'Do not move,' he said in a low, tense voice to Harry.

Harry did not need telling twice – he was frozen to Snape's back in fear. Snape shot a stunning spell at the animal, but it dodged, taking a leaping lunge right at Snape's shoulder. The Potions master swore again and pulled himself and Harry aside with more agility than Harry would have expected, and the creature missed its mark, coming to land in the street. It spun to face them again, still snarling, its eyes locked with Snape's.

'Take my arm, right now, Potter,' Snape said, not taking his gaze from the beast's. Harry grasped it immediately, steeling himself for the sensation.

The last thing he heard, as Snape spun them away into nothingness, was the snarl of the charging beast and Snape's furious howl of rage and pain.


	4. The Homecoming

**A/N:** And… the next instalment of this three-chapter week-end. The third will, hopefully, be up tomorrow (time uncertain, as I am also flying home tomorrow afternoon). A huge thank you to all readers and to everyone who has reviewed! A few review responses below – as per usual, feel free to skip over if you prefer.

Also, I have noticed that Fanfiction, at list on my end, seems to have a glitch at the moment… I see the reviews as they come through my email, but they don't seem to be posting so far on the site; and even the number I have received via email thus far seems inapposite with the number of reviewers according to the story summary page, so I may be missing some. Hopefully, the website resolves this issue quickly. In the meantime, rest assured that I will read all reviews and respond to questions, and with any luck it will be up on the main site shortly.

Enjoy Chapter Four!

 **Su No Yo** : First of all – thank you for your review and support! I wanted to address your concerns on the distance Sirius would have been travelling, as you brought up some decent points, and I'm sure others were wondering as well. It _is_ a story (and a magical one at that), so a certain amount of suspended belief is probably necessary… but I'm well familiar with the distance and geographical layout of the area, as I am from the south of England myself. I chose Happisburgh because I've actually done the bike trail from there three times with my fiancé – who has family living in Surrey, coincidentally. It takes us fourteen hours to make the trip by bike (about 160 miles, and we usually stop for the night along the way and do it as a week-end journey). Sirius, who would be travelling on four legs, not two, would theoretically be capable of going around the speed of a casual biker, so I used about 14 hours as my rough landmark (just over half a day). That said, he _does_ get there sooner than that – he leaves around ten or eleven in the morning, and arrives in Surrey by about eleven in the evening. Presumably, he did not walk the entire journey – though we won't find out exactly how he got there for some time. Sirius's own sense of direction and time is also notably off already – so estimations may fall short of reality in several places. I think Sirius's statement that it was 'not that far – not really' is a somewhat sarcastic comment, and a comparison to the distance he must travel to get to Hogwarts (which was why, originally, he had hoped to end up further up the coast). From Happisburgh, Edinburgh alone is about seven hours or more by car, and easily 400 miles.

As for the end of that desperate apparition… we will find out in this next chapter. I hope this helps, and enjoy the continuation of the story!

 **Spring Roll** : Thank you for your review! It was very kind – and I _do_ appreciate your comments on chapters – thank you for taking the time! So… Sirius is out! I do hope the escape lived up to expectations – though I moved up the timeline to fit with our story. And Severus showed us a bit of a dark side… where _did_ he get those hairs, and for what purpose? It's a question that we'll find the answer to eventually – though not this chapter. The tension between what is dark v. what is light and _who_ is dark v. light is something that we see explored a bit in canon PoA (and beyond), and I wanted to bring that more obviously to the forefront early on in this story. The Sirius/Severus confrontation… that was one of my favourite interactions to write so far, and I'm quite glad you seemed to have enjoyed it! They have so many similarities – and _so_ many differences. I knew early on that I wanted Severus to be the one to find Harry (with the dubious magic he invoked…), but I debated over whether I'd have Harry still in Surrey when that occurred, on the Knight Bus, or somewhere else entirely (London, perhaps, or even back in Hogsmeade). In the end, I felt that Harry as he is in this story would have come to his senses a bit rather than taking off on his own for London; and I just could not resist exploring what Sirius's reaction would be if he discovered 'Snivellus' trying to make off with _his_ godson. We'll see more of his thoughts on _that_ shortly. I've kept the update as quick as I can – enjoy!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 4: The Homecoming**

Albus was pacing before the iron gates of the castle grounds, growing increasingly worried as he darted glance after anxious glance at his wristwatch. The inky blackness of the night around him grew steady deeper, even while the full moon continued to beam down – a testament to Albus' darkening temper.

Upon leaving Severus earlier that evening, Albus had apparated to the Dursley house, where he found all three of the occupants and a visiting relative in a state of false tranquillity – the Ministry officials having been forced to subdue them with heavy doses of calming draught while they punctured Marge Dursley and modified her memory of the fateful dinner. Arabella Figg, on the other hand, was in a blind panic. She flung herself at Albus the moment he entered the house, tearful and apologetic as she stammered out an explanation of what had occurred. Albus was hardly able to get a coherent word from her, let alone fend off the curious Ministry officials and dissuade the barrage of awkward questions.

'Arabella,' he said sharply, to the still rambling woman. 'It is essential that I locate Harry as soon as possible. What direction did he set out in?'

'I don't know, Albus!' she wailed, wringing her hands fretfully under his interrogation. 'Vernon Dursley wouldn't let me past to the door for ages – bellowing about his sister and insistent that I find some way to restore her. By the time I reached the pavement outside, Harry was nowhere to be seen!'

Albus nodded. He had been prepared for the answer, but it didn't make his task any easier.

'Stay here, if you would,' he told Arabella. 'In case Harry returns to the house. Keep a watch over him, if he does. And tell Severus when he arrives that I have already set out. He should go left – I will take the right. I shall send word if we find Harry.'

One of the Ministry wizards stepped forward. A Hubert O'Donnell, if Albus' recollection was correct.

'Would you like assistance locating the child, Professor Dumbledore?' the young man asked solicitously.

'Oh no, thank you, Hubert,' Albus answered, with a forced smile. 'I'm sure he will not have gone far.'

The Ministry wizard looked doubtful, but nodded his assent. Albus swept from the room without speaking to the Dursleys – and set off into the street.

He turned right and combed about fifteen blocks, searching with his eyes as well as his magic while he forcibly denied his rising panic. Harry was nowhere in sight. When he'd been at the effort around twenty minutes, however, a gleaming silver doe came cantering around the corner, gliding to a stop before him.

'I have found him, Albus,' the doe spoke, in Severus' silky voice. 'We will meet you at the castle gates forthwith.'

Albus breathed a sigh of relief. Harry was safe. Without hesitation, he shot his silver phoenix off to inform Arabella and turned quickly on the spot, vanishing soundlessly back to the school.

That had been nearly fifteen minutes ago. Yet Severus and Harry had yet to show. Albus had half a mind to send his patronus after Severus… just to ensure that they had come to no trouble… when a sudden crack rent the air, and two wizards tumbled to the ground.

'Harry!' Albus cried, rushing for the smaller form.

Harry had not risen from his hands and knees. Before Albus could even grasp his shoulder, the child began retching, sicking up his dinner all over the ground. Deeply concerned, Albus dropped to his own knees beside him, running a soothing hand along his back and cupping the boy's forehead with his other hand – feeling for fever. Harry was distinctly clammy and shaking, but he didn't seem to be running a temperature.

'Are you ill, child?' Albus asked softly, helping Harry to sit back as he finished sicking up and conjuring a damp flannel to wipe his face. Harry shook his head, but could not seem to speak quite yet.

'It was the apparition, Albus,' said Severus, his own voice much huskier than usual.

Albus shot a sharp glance at him. Severus too was slumped on the ground, looking very pale, though he had not been sick. One hand was clutched over his left calf, where blood was seeping copiously through his robes. Deciding Harry was stable enough for the moment, Albus moved quickly to kneel beside the Potions master.

'Were you splinched?' he asked in concern, pushing Severus' hand away from the wound immediately and ripping back the robes to reveal a long, jagged gash.

'No,' Severus said, his teeth gritted against the pain. 'But it was a near thing. We were attacked just as I made to disapparate with Potter –'

He broke off with a hiss, as Albus conjured a hot towel and attempted to mop away the worst of the blood to better see the injury.

'Black?' Albus asked sharply, pausing in his ministrations to peer into Severus' face.

He shook his head. 'No. Some sort of dog, I think,' Severus clarified. 'The great beast was lurking in the street. He snatched my leg just as we were turning, and I only just managed to blast him off with an impediment jinx. I could not stop the apparition…' he trailed off again, moaning as Albus prodded the edges of the gash. 'Let it be, Albus!' he snapped. 'Go and see to the boy.'

'I'm fine,' Harry put in. He'd walked over to join them, still very pale, but looking a lot better off than Severus appeared.

'You were injured when I found you,' Severus pointed out, glaring at Harry over Albus' shoulder.

'Not much,' said Harry defensively, as Albus turned to give him a piercing once-over. 'Just a few scrapes from a spill into the street,' he clarified. 'They'll keep.'

Albus gave him a stern look, but took the boy at his word for now. 'This is very deep,' he said to Severus in concern, returning to his examination of the man's leg. 'And it's possible the animal injured the bone. Hold still a moment.'

Ignoring Severus' glare, he ran a quick diagnostic over the injury.

'No fracture,' he noted in satisfaction. 'But the wound runs clean through the muscle. It needs to be properly disinfected before I can seal it, and you will need a blood replenishing potion, a muscle rebuilder, and probably a course of antibiotics as well, just in case.'

Severus scoffed impatiently again. 'Just seal it up, Albus!' he snapped. 'And let's get into the castle, before we're joined out here in the open.'

Albus frowned, but glanced around nervously. He conjured a set of long white bandages, which wrapped themselves snugly around Severus' leg. The man made gave a snarl of protest and pulled out his own wand, but Albus grasped his wrist tightly.

'It _needs_ to be disinfected, Severus,' he said firmly. 'Unless you would rather I haul Poppy or Minerva out here to do it for you, I suggest you leave the bandages as I have set them.'

Severus looked mutinous, but he stored his wand away and accepted Albus' hand to gain his feet again.

'Now, let me see you, Harry,' Albus said, switching his focus to the younger wizard again.

Harry held out his palms. 'Only scrapes, sir,' he said again. 'They'll keep until we get inside.'

Albus took each hand to assess the damage, but the cuts were not deep. They would need disinfecting as well, but it was nothing that would prevent them making their way into the safety of the school first.

'What happened in the apparition, Severus?' he asked the Potions master as the three of them made for the gates.

Severus was white-faced and limping unsteadily on his feet as they walked toward the school, but he refused Albus' helpful arm and baulked at the suggestion that the headmaster conjure a stretcher for the journey. The best Albus could do, for now, was to keep the man talking and his mind off his pain. He kept a firm grip on Harry's shoulder as they made the journey – partly to reassure the child… and partly to assure himself that the boy was safe, and whole.

'I dispelled the beast,' Severus repeated. 'But I'd already begun to travel with Potter. I was afraid that redirecting the apparition would cause one or both of us to splinch, but my focus was distracted in dealing with the animal. And the injury,' he added resentfully, grimacing at the thought. 'I had to redouble my efforts to get us here in one piece… the result was not entirely pleasant, on either of us.' He glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eye,

Albus nodded thoughtfully, considering the man. 'I think perhaps an invigoration draught would be beneficial too,' he commented. It was very taxing to side-along apparate with an unqualified wizard at the best of times… much more so if the wizard performing the magic were operating at less than his best.

Severus scoffed again. 'Keep your remedies, Albus,' he spat impatiently. 'A bit of sleep and some _solitude_ will do for me, I'm sure.'

Yet, even as he said it, Albus could see that Severus was struggling to continue the long walk up to the castle, his usual sweeping steps growing closer to a shuffle as they neared the front doors. When they started on the stone steps to the entrance, Severus faltered entirely. Albus shot out an arm to keep him from tumbling backward. He wrapped the arm firmly behind the man's back, supporting his weight.

'I'm fine, Albus!' Severus snarled in protest.

'It is not weakness to accept assistance when it is needed, Severus,' Albus replied in exasperation. 'You will never make it up on your own. So I am afraid I must insist, unless you would rather I stick you to a stretcher for the remainder of the climb.'

Severus continued to mutter darkly, but allowed Albus to help him through the doors. Harry, watching the duo with wide and slightly guilty eyes, kept silent as he followed in their wake.

'To the hospital wing, Harry,' Albus directed, as they crossed the threshold into the entrance hall.

'Absolutely not, Albus!' Severus growled.

'Severus, you cannot manage the stairs to my office!' Albus insisted, growing irritated himself now.

'Then let me alone!' Severus spat. 'I can manage the flight down to the dungeons well enough. But I'll not have Poppy flitting about half the night.'

'Can't – can't we just floo upstairs instead, sir?' Harry put in, very quietly. Albus smiled.

'A reasonable alternative, Harry,' he agreed, still not relinquishing his grip on the Potions master.

He led them across the marble and into the smaller side chamber off the Great Hall, where there was always a fresh pot of floo powder set upon the mantle. He sent Harry through first, then assisted Severus over the hearth.

'Merlin, Albus!' said Minerva in shock, as he and Severus stepped through into the circular office. She already had Harry by the shoulder, but moved forward quickly to take Severus' other side (over his continued griping) and assist Albus in settling him on the sofa. The Minister, thankfully, appeared to have left.

'What happened?' Minerva asked tightly, as Albus propped the potion master's leg up in front of him and began to unwind the bandaging.

'A dog bite, it seems,' Albus answered shortly. The wound was continuing to bleed through its binding, and Albus feared the long walk to the castle had probably worsened it. 'Go and fetch a few phials of disinfectant, a blood replenisher, an antibiotic, a muscle restorative, an invigoration draught and several doses of pain reliever – if you would, please, Minnie,' he rattled off, already conjuring a basin of water and a pile of fresh flannels.

Minerva looked slightly startled by the litany of potions, but bustled off for the staircase at once.

'Can I help, sir?' Harry asked shyly, coming up behind Albus.

'No – you may not!' Severus snapped, just as Albus said,

'Of course, Harry.'

'Albus!' Severus objected angrily. 'It's a bloody gash – not an amputated leg. I rather doubt Potter's distinguished medical expertise is needed for this. The boy should be resting – he's performed serious wandless magic tonight already, not to mention that it is coming on midnight, and we are only in this predicament because he ran off on his own in the first place!'

Albus gave him an admonitory glare, while Harry coloured.

'That is not reasonable, Severus,' Albus said softly. 'And I distinctly recall you telling me just hours ago that Harry's plight was one you could sympathise with.'

Now Severus flushed a bit, glaring at Albus in turn.

'Bring me a few of the pillows off the other sofa, please, Harry,' Albus continued. Harry hopped quickly to obey, and Albus propped the leg up a bit higher to better see the gash along it.

Minerva returned in short order – her arms laden with phials of brilliantly-coloured potions. She set the lot on the table between them, and Albus selected a phial of the purple disinfectant and a pain reliever at once. He waited for Severus to down the pain potion first, then uncorked the phial of disinfectant, leaning over Severus' leg.

'Brace yourself, Severus,' he said meaningfully, and began to pour the contents into the open wound. Severus bit back a roar as the potion bubbled and frothed, cleaning the debris and bacteria from his leg. Albus hissed a bit in sympathy as they waited for the potion to turn clear. As soon as it did, Albus ran his wand along the edges of the gash, sealing the skin as neatly and completely as though the skin had never been marred in the first place. 'Good,' he said approvingly. Severus glared in reply.

'Minerva, if you would see to Harry's hands and knees,' Albus requested, selecting again from the little pile of potions.

'Is there a reason she couldn't have been doing that while you were torturing me?' Severus grumbled as Minerva led the wide-eyed child over to the adjacent chair and began to assess his palms. He took the remainder of the potions with ill grace, but Albus was satisfied. At last, both the professor and Harry were healed, and Albus called for Mina to bring tea and something to eat.

'I expect you're both hungry, with such a harrowing evening,' he added, twinkling at Harry as the elf reappeared with a tray of cakes and tea service. Albus himself strode over to the liquor cabinet, pouring two small measures of scotch into tumblers. He passed one of the crystal glasses to Minerva as he retook his seat. Severus eyed it resentfully.

'I would not turn down a drink, Albus,' he said with a pointed look.

The headmaster smiled. 'Ah, but it is considered most unwise to mix pain potions and alcohol, Severus, or don't you remember?' he asked with an innocent expression, recalling only too well how Minerva and Severus had snatched his wine from his hand in a similar situation the previous summer. He flicked his wand casually at the tea cup Minerva had prepared for Severus, so that it hovered invitingly in front of his face. Harry stifled a giggle with his fist at his mouth, and Albus shot a wink at him.

'Of course, headmaster,' Severus growled, snatching the teacup out of the air. He took an experimental sniff before sipping at it – probably checking that he wasn't being drugged further. The brew apparently passed inspection.

'So, Harry,' Albus said, turning his twinkling gaze from the Potions professor at last. 'Will you tell us what happened tonight?'

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Harry took a sip of his own tea, turning his attention from the amusing interlude between Dumbledore and Snape to look the headmaster full in the face. He shifted a bit on the sofa, not keen to be under scrutiny from all three of the gathered professors. In a small voice, he recounted the events of the evening – the announcement of Aunt Marge's visit… Remus' illness… the near-miss with the wine glass in the middle of dinner… and, finally, the accidental blowing up of Aunt Marge as they finished up pudding.

'It was an accident,' Harry insisted desperately, looking between Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. 'I didn't mean to do it! I just… I lost control.'

McGonagall brushed a soft hand down his cheek, while Dumbledore set his drink down on the table.

'We know it was not your fault, Harry,' Dumbledore assured him. 'Even the best of us have difficulty controlling our emotions and our magic – especially in highly stressful situations. What Marge Dursley said was a terrible insult, and nobody blames you for growing upset.'

Harry bit his lip, shooting a quick glance at Professor Snape. But even the Potions master did not seem to want to contradict the headmaster's assertion. He was glowering into his own cup of tea, not looking at any of his companions.

'So… I'm _definitely_ not expelled then, sir?' Harry asked tentatively.

'Of course not, child,' Dumbledore said gently. 'We would not punish you for something you could not help. And I would never allow the Ministry to do so, either.'

Harry nodded, feeling a little less stressed than he had done so far tonight. 'What happened to Aunt Marge?' he asked, when the feeling of salvation had settled a bit.

'The Ministry wizards were able to reverse the effects,' Dumbledore assured him. 'She was restored to normal, and her memory modified. She will have no recollection of the incident.'

'Maybe,' said Harry, less sanguine. 'But I'll bet Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia will remember well enough for her.'

Dumbledore's gaze grew steely. 'Do not worry about it, Harry,' he said firmly. 'I shall see to the situation.'

'Were they going mental, when you got there tonight, sir?' Harry pressed.

Dumbledore shook his head. 'They had been given calming draught, and were quite subdued by the time I arrived on the scene.'

Harry was surprised out of his anxiety. 'But… I thought Muggles couldn't do potions, professor?' Harry asked the headmaster, confused. 'Didn't you tell me that, last year?'

It was Snape who answered, with an impatient roll of his eyes. 'Muggles cannot _brew_ potions, Potter,' he clarified. 'Because a magical core is required for the process. Similarly, they cannot take potions that require a magical core to work effectively, or which work on the magic of a wizard itself. Sometimes, doing so will merely cause the brew to have no effect. Other potions may cause poisoning or violent rejection from the Muggle's system. Muggles _can_ , however, take medicinal potions – just as most Muggle pharmaceutical medicine works on wizards, if often less effectively than potions. There are exceptions – wizards, for example, cannot tolerate most Muggle vaccinations once their magic has begun to mature, nor can we receive blood transfusions or certain intravenous medications. But you could take paracetamol or penicillin if the need arose, just as your aunt and uncle are able to take a calming draught.'

'Oh,' said Harry, feeling slightly stupid now. 'I guess that makes sense, sir,' he continued, in an effort to sound more coherent. 'Though, I think I'm allergic to penicillin,' he added thoughtfully.

Snape merely huffed, turning away again.

'So,' Harry continued, looking back at Dumbledore once more. 'Do I have to go back then, sir?' he asked, voicing the question that had been plaguing his mind ever since Snape appeared on Magnolia Crescent.

McGonagall made a noise of disgust in the back of her throat, and Snape shot a sharp look at the headmaster. Dumbledore shook his head, looking very seriously at Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles. 'No, Harry,' he assured him. 'You do not. Not this summer. I believe the time you spent there will be sufficient to restore the blood protections for another year – and I think we can all agree that to return you to that house at this point would only exacerbate the situation further. You will remain here for the rest of the summer.'

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. 'Brilliant.'

Professor McGonagall grasped his shoulder tightly, her eyes slightly misty. 'What's the matter?' Harry asked her, startled by the emotion there.

'Nothing, Harry dear,' she said, brushing a bit at the moisture. 'It's just… I am very grateful to have you back here, safe and sound.'

Harry looked between her and the headmaster again, starting to feel he was missing something.

'Er – thanks…' he said slowly. 'But, you know, it wasn't completely horrible. My aunt and uncle ignored me, mostly, which is definitely the way I prefer it. And Remus was there most of the time – until tonight. He talked to me a lot about my parents, and helped me with my work. Until tonight, there really weren't any major problems.'

McGonagall nodded, though her eyes were still brimming. 'I know, Harry. But it isn't that. It's just – after I heard the news tonight, I was so worried you would be –'

But Dumbledore cleared his throat pointedly, and McGonagall cut herself off. She glanced curiously at the headmaster. So did Harry – in time to see Dumbledore give a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

'You haven't told him?' McGonagall asked, incredulous.

'Told me what?' asked Harry, looking between the teachers. Snape had broken his own deadpan gaze into his tea cup, and was eying the headmaster warily.

'I have not yet had the chance, Minnie,' the headmaster replied, breathing a heavy sigh. He set his drink aside once more, and pinned Harry with that penetrating blue gaze.

'Told me what, sir?' Harry repeated, now feeling unaccountably nervous. McGonagall laid a hand on his knee, squeezing it tightly.

'There was a breakout tonight, Harry,' the headmaster said seriously. 'From Azkaban prison. A wizard has escaped – one with a significantly dark past and close ties with Voldemort.'

Harry felt his stomach squirm. 'That's awful,' he said. 'I thought it was supposed to be terrible there… how did he manage to escape?'

'We are not quite certain,' Dumbledore admitted. 'But we know he left the fortress sometime between last night and today. The Minister brought the news to the castle shortly before we received word that you had left your aunt and uncle's home. Naturally, the information heightened our concern for your safety – the entire wizarding world is likely to remain on edge until the prisoner is recaptured.'

'Who is he?' Harry asked.

'His name is Sirius Black,' the headmaster answered. To his left, Harry saw Snape's eyes gleam dangerously at the mention of the name. He wondered at the odd reaction.

'What did he do?'

'He was imprisoned for murder,' Dumbledore answered. 'He killed thirteen people – one wizard and a dozen Muggles – the day after Voldemort's attack on your parents. The Ministry had cornered him in a Muggle neighbourhood, and Black cursed half the street before he was taken into custody. He was under heavy protection at Azkaban; among the most closely guarded in the fortress. It makes his escape even more incredible, and that much more ominous.'

Harry shivered a little. He had rarely seen Dumbledore quite so grave.

Snape cleared his throat pointedly, and Harry turned to look at him. Snape was glaring at the headmaster. 'Do you not think, Albus,' he asked sarcastically. 'That Potter ought to be told a _bit_ more than this? That he ought not to be _warned_ against reckless behaviour?'

Dumbledore looked disapproving. 'Thank you, Severus,' he said. Harry thought he sounded a bit exasperated. 'I was coming to that.'

'It's not necessary tonight, is it Albus?' Minerva cut in fretfully. 'It's very late – Harry should be getting up to bed. It's been a very long night for him.'

Snape rolled his eyes, but did not comment. Harry felt McGonagall's hand tighten again on his leg as she spoke, and could feel her protectiveness.

'I want to know everything!' Harry insisted. 'Sir,' he added, turning his focus to the headmaster again. Dumbledore considered him for a moment, then nodded.

'I will tell you, Harry,' he said, 'Because I want you to be on your guard. You need to be very, _very_ cautious from now on – even within the grounds of the castle. You cannot be alone outside these walls, at any time. That is very important. If you would like to be in the grounds during the summer, you must come to me, or to Professor McGonagall. If we cannot accompany you ourselves, we will send a house-elf or another professor with you.'

Harry nodded. These restrictions were no different than they had been after the incident last summer, when the still unknown assailant had poisoned him in the grounds. But they did not explain the professors' gravity.

'Alright, sir. But, why is it so dangerous? Surely, Sirius Black wouldn't try and enter Hogwarts… if he's been working for Voldemort –'

'Do not say the name!' Snape spat. Harry ignored him, rattling on.

'Then he wouldn't want to come near _you_ , would he, sir?'

Dumbledore sighed. 'I would like to hope not,' he said. 'But that is not the information we have so far. There is great reason to suspect, Harry, that Sirius Black is plotting to avenge his master's destruction. In fact, the Azkaban guards believe he broke out with the specific intention of coming to Hogwarts.'

Harry considered the headmaster's serious gaze, McGonagall's tearful protection, even Snape's oddly uncharacteristic reaction when he'd discovered Harry in the street. It all suddenly made sense. With a sinking heart, Harry said, 'You think he broke out to come after me.'

It was not a question, and Dumbledore did not move to correct him.

'Yes,' the headmaster said, simply.

Harry nodded once, resigned. It was no less than he should have expected, really. This sort of danger always seemed to be aimed at him somehow.

'It'll be alright, Harry,' Professor McGonagall said soothingly in his ear. 'It will not be long until Black is recaptured, and you will be well protected until that happens.'

'I'm not scared, professor,' he assured her. And really, he wasn't. Not overly so, anyway. Especially not while he was at Hogwarts, under Dumbledore's protection. 'Black can't be worse than Voldemort, can he?' he reasoned.

The Potions master snapped.

'Do _not_ underestimate your enemies – you foolish, arrogant child!' he raged at Harry, actually leaping up from his place on the sofa and bellowing in Harry's face as he leaned over the chair. Harry reeled back a bit, startled by the suddenness of Snape's attack.

'Severus!' McGonagall protested at once, but Snape ignored her.

'You seem to be labouring under the delusion that sheer luck and the protection of those older and wiser than yourself will save you from harm, Potter – but let me assuage you of that comfortable, ignorant notion. You may have faced a shadow of the Dark Lord in the past, but you have _no comprehension_ of the perils you would encounter should you come up against a master of the dark arts,' he snarled. 'The naïve belief that you are untouchable – immune from harm because Black is but a _servant_ of the Dark Lord – that arrogance will get you killed, boy! You have no idea – _NO IDEA_ – of the danger Sirius Black will pose!'

'Enough, Severus,' said Dumbledore in a firm tone, taking Snape by the arm and pulling him away from Harry again. 'That is quite enough,' he repeated, pressing Snape back onto his own sofa. Snape subsided, though he was still breathing heavily and glaring at Harry with something that was almost… desperation?

Harry, still stunned by the man's vehemence, remained frozen in his seat.

'Come,' McGonagall said imperiously to him, standing up and blocking Snape from his line of vision. 'Let's get you up to bed – it's past midnight.'

'But –' Harry objected, looking over to the headmaster again.

'We will have plenty of opportunity to speak in the morning, Harry,' Dumbledore assured him with a small smile. 'But you should get some rest. Minerva,' he said, placing a hand lightly on McGonagall's wrist as she ushered Harry past the men. 'There should be some dreamless sleep in my stores. See that he has a spoonful in bed, won't you?'

'I don't need –' Harry protested, as McGonagall gave the headmaster a curt nod and began to chivvy him toward the stairs again.

'You've had a long and trying evening, Harry,' Dumbledore interrupted, not unkindly. 'I would rather you slept soundly tonight.'

And Harry, knowing the battle was lost, relented with a sigh, and allowed Professor McGonagall to guide him up to bed.

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Albus gave in to Severus' pleadings once Minerva had taken Potter from the room, pouring him his own small measure of scotch. Severus sipped at it gratefully, savouring the bracing drink as his heartrate slowly receded to normal.

'You should have told Potter everything,' he said bitterly to Albus.

The headmaster shook his head. 'I do not want to give Harry further fodder to put himself in danger,' Albus reasoned. 'I know him too well. If Harry is aware of Black's role in his parents' deaths, he will go after him. He will not take the caution he must to stay safe.'

Snape scoffed. 'And without the information, headmaster, he will not take the danger seriously enough!' he disagreed. 'You saw how he reacted just now – he does not believe Black to be a viable threat. He needs to know what happened that night, or he will continue to show the reckless and arrogant behaviour that becomes him as well as it did his father before him.'

Albus frowned. 'Harry is not James, Severus. And I grow weary of giving the reminder,' he said witheringly. 'Besides, do you _really_ wish Harry to know _everything_ that went into the Potters' deaths? He will ask questions, you realise, if I tell him about Black, and the Fidelius charm. He will want to know _why_ they needed such protection. He has already asked me once, just over a year ago, why Voldemort hunted him as a baby. Why he wanted to kill him. What am I to do then, Severus, if Harry asks for the truth?'

Severus blanched, staring coldly at Dumbledore. 'It is hardly the same thing,' he argued, the words barely audible as he shot an anxious glance at the stairs, checking for Minerva's reappearance. ' _I_ do not pose a threat to the boy. _I_ am not out for vengeful murder. And you swore to me that you would not reveal my part in this.'

'I swore I would not reveal your vow to Lily's memory,' Albus corrected quietly. 'And I have kept my promise. I have never breathed a word of our agreement to another soul – not even to Minerva.'

There was a long, very awkward silence.

'I would not betray your confidence, Severus, nor your loyalty,' Albus assured him finally. 'I am merely pointing out that things are quite intertwined, once we pull back the veil on what happened that night. And I would caution you; for one day Harry _will_ need to be told everything, and he will want all the answers. I will not reveal your secret, but neither will I lie to Harry, should he discover the truth for himself. I suggest you think carefully about what _you_ intend to do, if that day should come.'

Minerva's footfalls sounded on the stairs at that moment, and Severus was saved the necessity of reply. She paused as she came upon the tension in the room, but Albus smiled easily up at her, patting the cushion of the sofa beside him. She obliged, taking the seat and her own glass of scotch in one graceful movement, and leaning back to settle into the sofa. Albus rested an arm lightly across her shoulders.

'What an evening,' Minerva said with a sigh.

'Indeed,' Albus agreed.

'What will you do about Remus Lupin?' Minerva asked suddenly. 'He will be most anxious in the morning, if he attempts to go back to Privet Drive and finds Harry has left… especially if he hears the news.'

'I will speak with him first thing, before breakfast,' he assured her. 'He is not usually up until quite late after a transformation, but I'm afraid I shall have to disturb his recovery somewhat. I would rather he hear this from me – and Cornelius must have spoken with the _Prophet_ by now. The announcement will be all over the papers by tomorrow morning.'

'So you'll dash off first thing for the wolf's den?' Severus asked derisively.

'Oh, that won't be necessary,' Albus answered with a twinkle. 'As he is staying the night in an empty professor's suite here in the castle.'

'He's _what?!_ ' asked Severus, horrified. 'Why on earth would you set a werewolf loose at Hogwarts?!' he demanded.

'Severus,' Minerva chastised. 'You know better than anyone that the effects of the Wolfsbane potion mean that Remus is perfectly harmless. Why shouldn't he be permitted to stay? He has been more than helpful to the effort these past years – especially this summer with Harry.'

'Indeed,' Albus agreed. 'In fact, I am hoping he will stay the summer, to give Harry a little extra training and company. He is a highly skilled wizard, after all. We could use the extra wand in protecting the castle.'

'Why not just offer him a post, and be done with it?' growled Severus irritably.

'I was intending on exactly that, as a matter of fact,' agreed the headmaster lightly. 'Now that Professor Lockhart has left, we will be needing a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. I am hopeful that Remus will consent to fill the post.'

Severus stared, incredulous and horror-struck. 'You – you _cannot_ be serious, Albus!' he raged. Minerva, who seemed to have prepared for such a reaction, had a silencing spell flicked toward the staircase before Severus had even started.

'Perfectly, Severus,' said Dumbledore in a warning tone. 'Remus is as capable a wizard as yourself, and just as loyal. He would be an asset to the staff and our students.'

Severus jumped to his feet in agitation, pacing his well-worn path before the hearth in temper. 'Albus – there is every chance that the wolf conspired with Black to free him from Azkaban! He was once best friends with the maniac! It was a mistake to leave Potter in his company this summer already… don't you find the timing of Black's escape suspicious in the slightest? On a night when there would be no wizard to protect Potter at Privet Drive.'

'I do not think for even a moment that Remus would have assisted Black in breaking out of Azkaban,' Albus said firmly. 'The timing was unfortunate, but nothing more. And it is immaterial – Black would not have been able to access Harry at his relatives' home regardless of wizarding presence; the blood protections prevent any wizard from entering that would cause him harm.'

But Severus would not be pacified. He could _not_ stomach a year with Remus Lupin on the Hogwarts staff… could not watch him teach _his_ students, in the subject Severus knew _he_ should be instructing. It was maddening – intolerable. He changed tacks.

'Have you forgotten, headmaster, that Black and Lupin already conspired to murder once before? Have you forgotten that they tried to kill _me_ while we were at school?'

'You are blinded by years of hatred and prejudice, Severus,' said Dumbledore, his eyes sympathetic and slightly sad. The sight made Severus nauseous. 'But you know as well as I that Remus played no part in that childhood prank.'

' _Prank?_!' Severus snarled. 'It was no _prank_ , Albus. It was attempted murder!'

'It was an ill-conceived practical joke,' Albus disagreed. 'But I am not blind to what could have resulted, had James Potter not intervened. It was nearly disastrous – for you _and_ for Remus.'

'Had James Potter not felt that his own skin was worth more than my demise,' Severus countered bitterly.

'I do not believe that James was aware of the situation before his actions that night,' Albus reminded him. 'But there is no sense in digging up old injuries. _You_ did not have to follow Black's instruction either, Severus. I know that you are not an ignorant man; you had suspicions of what lay beyond the willow. Your desire to catch Remus out played as much a part in the near tragedy as did Black's revelation. And neither fault rests on Remus' shoulders.'

Severus growled again, but did not argue the point. 'I still believe it would be foolish in the extreme to appoint Remus Lupin to a professorship while Sirius Black remains at large,' he said stubbornly.

'And I believe Remus uniquely qualified – both in the field of Defence Against the Dark Arts and in the possible apprehension of a wizard he once knew so well.' Dumbledore insisted. 'And so I fear, for now, we are at an impasse.'

Severus crossed his arms, glaring at the headmaster. But he did not push him further.

'How did you leave it with Cornelius?' Albus asked Minerva, redirecting the conversation. Minerva frowned.

'He was very anxious,' she admitted. 'He wants to place some of the Azkaban guards at the castle, for protection, until they find Black.'

Severus was stunned. Dementors at Hogwarts? It was a terrible idea – teenage emotions were among the most volatile of all… and the school, at full capacity… there would be too much temptation for the foul creatures to resist.

Albus frowned deeply. Severus could tell that, on _this_ , they were in perfect accord.

'I am not inclined to acquiesce,' he said. 'The thought of Dementors within the grounds of my school turns my stomach. I was never in favour of handing the security of the prison over to them in the first place.'

Minerva sighed. 'I expected you'd say that,' she said. 'But Fudge was quite insistent – it may be a difficult battle to win.'

Albus ran a weary hand across his face. The gesture angered Severus, irrationally so. He knew it was unfair, but he despised whenever the old man showed signs of uncharacteristic weakness. He was supposed to be deific – venerable, unflappable, and constantly energetic. A reminder that Dumbledore was merely human, and quite old at that, gave him the sensation that he'd swallowed live eels in his tea.

He did not relish the pang of concern that reminded him just how much he cared for this exasperating, sometimes infuriating old mage.

'– will have to go speak with him in the morning,' Albus was saying. Severus realised that his own attention had wandered. Perhaps it was the heady combination of drink and pain potion. Yes… that would explain this rollercoaster of emotion that was so unlike him.

'Are you quite alright, Severus?' Minerva asked in concern, peering closely at him from her place at Albus' side. 'You're looking a bit peaky.'

'I'm fine,' Severus assured her, keeping the bile in his tone as minimal as he could. 'Will you tell Fudge that you've brought Potter to the castle?' he asked the headmaster, trying to divert Minerva's attention.

'I shall have to, I'm afraid,' Dumbledore said with a sigh. 'There were Ministry officials at the house tonight – they will know we took him. I will not give the full story, of course. Cornelius will not be surprised. In fact, he would probably have suggested it himself, given the current state of affairs. And he cannot do anything to intervene, in any case, even if he wanted to.'

'We should all get to bed,' Minerva cut in, standing up and vanishing the used glasses. 'It's very late, and tomorrow will be a long day.'

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Sirius gave a yelp of pain as he was thrown to the ground, crashing hard against the low stone garden wall that Harry had been set upon when he'd first laid eyes on the boy. He pulled himself gingerly to his feet again, shaking off the worst of the sting. His bones were aching where Snape's curse and the stone had made contact, but he was nearly oblivious to the dull throb thanks to the vicious anger still coursing through his blood.

 _Snape._ He swung his head around the darkened street, sniffing the air to catch the man's scent… but he knew both Snape and his godson were long gone.

He hadn't heard the whole of their interaction – he'd ducked out of sight for a moment when the Knight Bus had popped into existence on the street. When he'd watched it careen around the corner and made his way back toward the garden where he'd left Harry, Snape had been there – billowing black robes and sneering expression exactly as Sirius remembered. Exactly as he had _always_ loathed.

 _What_ was Snivellus doing with Harry? How could Dumbledore have let the greasy bastard _near_ him, knowing, as he must, what Severus had become? And why had Harry seemed so calm in his presence – like he knew him… knew _Snivellus_ , like he did not know Sirius. Was comforted by him, even; while the sight of Sirius in the alleyway had sent him into blind panic.

It was an infuriating thought.

And then Snape had taken him. Taken Harry. To Hogwarts, the man said… to Dumbledore, presumably. Dumbledore was looking for him, Snape had said. They were going to meet him at the school. If Snivellus could be trusted to truly deliver Harry to the headmaster, that was. Which Sirius very much doubted.

He did not trust Snivellus with his godson.

Snarling in frustration at his missed attempt, Sirius made his way slowly up the street. He had further reason to get to Hogwarts now. He had to know that Harry was alright – even without the rat in residence.

It was time to head north.


	5. The Azkaban Guards

**A/N:** And the final promised instalment. This is probably it until Thursday or Friday… unless I get particularly lucky and have more time than I anticipate this week. This chapter is a little shorter than my usual, but the section I had intended to end on did not seem to fit well at the conclusion of this chapter, so I am saving it for next time. And apologies for the very late posting time… I only just got back to my flat from the flight.

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 5: The Azkaban Guards**

Remus awoke very early – much too early, for a morning after the full moon. Someone was knocking insistently at his door.

He stumbled to answer the call – half-blinded with residual exhaustion. When he finally pulled the great oak door ajar, he was astonished to see Albus on the threshold, a very grave expression on his face.

'Remus, I am sorry to disturb you so early in the morning. I know you must be ill-rested, but I am afraid this cannot wait.'

Remus shuffled aside, waving the headmaster into the small room. The vacant quarters were sparse on décor and furniture, but there was a threadbare sofa and a pair of rickety wooden chairs remaining in the centre of the space, in front of a small hearth. Albus took a seat on the end of the sofa, and Remus slumped into one of the small wooden chairs. Though his eyes were still heavy with interrupted sleep, he forced them into focus. He could tell from the set of Albus' mouth that something very serious had happened.

'What is it, Albus?' he asked.

The headmaster sighed. 'We have had a difficult night, Remus,' he said. 'I'm not sure where to begin…'

'Is it Harry?' Remus interrupted, suddenly tense.

'In a sense,' Albus admitted. 'But Harry is well. He is upstairs, in fact, still asleep.'

'You brought him here already?' said Remus in confusion. 'I thought the scheme was to collect him from the Dursleys on Tuesday.'

'That was my original intention, yes,' Albus confirmed. 'However, I did not anticipate the events of yesterday. It seems Vernon Dursley's sister was in town. She and Harry got in a row over dinner. Marge Dursley made some very vicious comments to him, and he ended up losing control of his magic. She was hit with an accidental engorgement charm.'

Remus, who had seen how hard Harry worked walking on eggshells around his family, felt his blood begin to boil. His temper always ran a little short anyway – in the wake of the moon. 'What _exactly_ did she say to him, Albus?' he asked, a bit of a snarl creeping into his voice.

Albus' gaze was as steely as his own voice. 'She made several nasty comments about Harry's parents. Harry was understandably upset. What happened was not his fault.'

'I should think not,' Remus said angrily. 'Did Arabella send word? Or did you find out from the Ministry?'

'Actually, Cornelius happened to be with me when the information came in – we were told together. The situation was complicated by the fact that Harry had run off –'

'He _what_?!' cried Remus, startled.

'Yes,' Albus confirmed heavily. 'I do believe he was rather overwhelmed by the series of events. He had not gone far, however, and Severus was able to track him down fairly quickly. We brought him back to the castle late last night.'

Remus ran a hand over his face, feeling guilty. 'Albus – I apologise,' he said. 'I should have considered the situation more fully before suggesting we leave Arabella with Harry for the night. I did not know that the Dursleys were planning on company.'

'Remus,' Albus interrupted him. 'It is not your fault in the slightest. But I am afraid there is more I must tell you.'

Remus raised his head again, eying the headmaster with trepidation. Albus looked both serious and oddly sympathetic, as though he were about to deliver news that a beloved relative had passed away.

'Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban,' the professor stated quietly.

Remus felt the words hit him like a dull blow to the gut. For a moment, he was too stunned to speak as the weight of the news crashed over him.

'When?' he rasped, when speech finally returned to him. ' _How_?'

The headmaster sighed. 'We are not sure on either point,' he admitted. 'Though the Ministry believes the break out occurred sometime in the past thirty-six hours or so. How he managed it is anyone's guess. Perhaps he did it alone with some unknown magic; perhaps he was given aide from someone on the outside.'

There was a hollow ringing in his ears. 'Albus,' he croaked. 'Albus, I swear, I never –'

'Oh I do not believe you had anything to do with it, Remus,' Albus assured him, reaching out a comforting hand and squeezing his forearm gently. 'I would never mean to imply that. I was merely musing aloud.'

'I cannot believe it, Albus. It's inconceivable. And after all this time…'

'I know,' Albus agreed seriously. 'This is merely the latest in a string of events over the past few years that have left me greatly disquieted.'

There was a long minute of silence, as each man sat lost in his own thoughts.

'What is being done to apprehend Sirius?' Remus asked, recovering himself a bit.

'The Dementors of Azkaban are searching for him as we speak,' Albus replied. 'And I will be meeting with Cornelius first thing this morning. I'm headed there next actually, but I wanted to speak with you first. It is likely that we will need to put in place increased security at the school until Black is caught. We believe,' he paused a moment. 'There is reason to believe he will come after Harry.'

Remus snarled openly. 'He would not dare.'

'Well, obviously, I would hope for the same,' said Albus. 'But it appears that his current intention _is_ to reach Hogwarts. We must be very careful to keep Harry from harm. I hope I can count on your assistance, in this.'

'Of course, Albus,' said Remus. 'Anything for Harry – whatever you need.'

'I am glad to hear it,' the headmaster replied with a small smile. 'Because what I need, Remus, is for you to take a more permanent role here at Hogwarts.'

'Meaning what, precisely, headmaster?' Remus asked, feeling slightly nervous again.

'As you know, we lost our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Gilderoy Lockhart, at the end of last term. I can think of nobody better to fill the post.'

'You – you wish _me_ to teach? At Hogwarts?' Remus was stunned. A part of him longed to accept… the other part knew the dream was impossible.

'Absolutely,' Albus said firmly. 'You can begin this summer, with Harry, as we discussed when you returned. In the autumn you can take up the official position.'

'But – Albus it's impossible,' Remus protested. 'I cannot be around school children. It would not be safe. Nor is it fair to interrupt their learning every cycle of the moon.'

'We can work around that,' the headmaster said with a careless wave of his hand. 'It's not as if your absences will come unexpectedly. You can plot the syllabus accordingly, and I shall have another teacher substitute for you on days we cannot miss.'

'That does not negate the issue of the students' safety,' Remus insisted. 'I will not put innocent lives at risk, Albus – especially children's.'

'The potion works well, Remus,' Albus said soothingly. 'You put no one at risk as long as you are diligent in taking it. I have the utmost faith in your sensibilities. You are too hard on yourself, and always have been.'

Remus sighed. 'I will… consider it,' he allowed.

'That is all I ask.' Albus said with a smile. He rose from his seat again. 'Now, I am afraid I must get to the Ministry. I wish to see Cornelius as soon as possible. You should return to bed – you look quite done in. I apologise again for bothering you at this hour, but I felt you should hear the news from me rather than reading it over your breakfast.'

'It's not a bother, Albus,' Remus said truthfully. 'I'm glad you told me as well.'

Albus laid a hand on his shoulder. 'It will all work out, Remus,' he said quietly. 'It always does.'

Remus smiled back as the headmaster left the room. But once the door had closed, he could not get back to sleep. All he could see were their faces… the carefree man he'd once thought was his best friend… the three people he'd killed in callousness and treachery… and the child, the precious child, at the centre of it all.

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Harry went down to breakfast the morning following his unexpected arrival with just Professor McGonagall for company; Dumbledore had already left for the Ministry of Magic. He was meeting with Cornelius Fudge, McGonagall told him, to discuss the situation with Sirius Black and arrange for the school's (and Harry's) protection. The discussions were likely to last most of the day.

Snape did not join them for breakfast either; although they were, admittedly, running a little later than usual. Given the fact that Harry had not gone to bed until past one in the morning, McGonagall had let him have a lie in today. Which was good, Harry thought, because even with the extra bit of sleep he wasn't in top form this morning. The debacle with Aunt Marge, the news about Sirius Black, and the whirlwind of emotions and messy apparitions had left him tossing and turning much of the night; and he woke very poorly rested, with a headache and a slightly scratchy throat.

His temper was not much improved when a tightly furled note popped up beside his glass of pumpkin juice.

 _Potter –_

 _Your Potions examination will take place tomorrow, at nine o'clock sharp. I trust you remember the terms of our agreement._

 _S.S._

 _P.S. – You shall need your dragonhide gloves._

Harry scowled as he finished the missive. Despite his revisions with Remus over the course of the past week, he was not feeling particularly confident about his chances on Snape's test. This would mean another full day's revision.

He picked moodily at his eggs – imagining each stabbed forkful to have Snape's face.

'Harry, are you listening?' McGonagall asked from his left. Harry started.

'Er – sorry ma'am,' he said apologetically. 'I was distracted.'

'I was saying,' McGonagall continued, looking slightly put-upon, 'That Remus is staying at the castle at the moment.'

'Really?' asked Harry, brightening at once. 'Where is he? Did he already have breakfast?'

McGonagall smiled at his enthusiasm. 'He is having a bit of a longer lie in this morning. He is still recovering from his bout of illness. But he should be up and about later this afternoon, if you'd like to see him.'

'Yeah, definitely!' Harry said with feeling. 'Er – if I'm far enough along in my Potions revisions, that is.'

He finished with his breakfast quickly after that, slightly cheered at the thought of visiting with Remus later. The day was balmy and bright, and he wanted to be out of doors.

'Can I take my things outside this morning?' he asked McGonagall. After all their concerns over Sirius Black last night, he wasn't sure she'd let him.

McGonagall considered him for a moment. 'I suppose that would be alright,' she agreed. 'As long as Mina or one of the other elves goes with you. I need to get a few things completed this morning, but I may join you after luncheon.'

Harry agreed immediately, and hurried from the hall to collect his Potions materials from upstairs. He thought perhaps he'd sit out by the lake to read – it would be much more enjoyable than cursing Snape while he slaved over the notes in the library.

Harry put in a good two hours of revisions, spread out on a blanket Mina had brought him next to the lake, before he decided on a break. He was starting to grow sleepy from the sun and the tedious Potions work, and his head was aching a bit again after so much reading. With a sigh, Harry set the notebook aside and laid back upon the blanket, staring up at the shapes in the fluffy clouds. He had a while to go until lunch, and he thought he might just close his eyes for a bit… perhaps McGonagall would consent to go flying with him later this afternoon…

Thinking of quidditch and incredibly comfortable, Harry drifted off.

He awoke abruptly to Mina shaking his arm. Still foggy with sleep, it took Harry a moment to realise why she'd awakened him. The bright sunny weather had turned – the sky was now heavy with dark grey clouds. A light drizzle of rain was falling softly on them both already.

'We is ought to be getting indoors, Master Harry,' Mina said, glancing up at the sky with concern. 'Mina is not liking this weather. Not at all, sir.'

'Right,' said Harry. He cleared his throat a bit, starting to pack up his things again. Mina folded the blanket over one tiny arm, still darting nervous glances about the grounds.

'Too much darkness,' she muttered.

It happened very suddenly.

In the space of a heartbeat, the summer's warmth was sucked away as if it had never been, leaving the grounds bitterly cold. Harry shivered at the swift change in temperature, and Mina began to stammer squeakily beside him, tugging at his arm.

'Come on, Master Harry!' she said, looking terrified. 'We has gots to be moving. Master Harry needs to be getting in the castle right now!'

'Wha –' Harry started to reply, startled by her urgency. But he never got the sentence out.

Tall, black-hooded figures were gliding around the lake toward them – ten, or perhaps twenty, Harry could not tell. A darkness was creeping in around Harry and Mina as the figures approached… and Harry wasn't sure if it was the sky blackening above them, or some ominous aura from these visitors.

The nearest figure was feet from them now. Harry had the uneasy suspicion that the creature was not human at all, as he watched its odd, smooth movements. He fingered his pocket for his wand. But before he could grip it, the creature suddenly paused. It drew a long, rattling breath.

Harry fell to his knees, his eyes rolling back in his head. As the hooded creature sucked the air from around him, he felt as though it were pulling something from inside his chest – around his very heart.

He was so cold.

And someone was screaming… a woman… a high pitched, terrified series of screams that pierced Harry straight through the soul.

He had to find her – had to help her!

But he was _so_ cold. He was frozen.

A man was laughing. Laughing cruelly while the woman continued to scream in desperation…

And Harry knew no more.

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Minerva was sitting in the headmaster's office when Mina popped up before her. She started at the house-elf's sudden appearance, blotting a long dash of green ink over the letter she was addressing.

'Goodness, Mina!' she said in surprise. 'What is it?' The little elf was wringing her hands in agitation, her eyes wide and fearful.

'There is bad creatures in the grounds, Mistress,' she said squeakily. 'Very bad, dark creatures. They is coming for Master Harry. This is giving him a fit, Mistress. He falls to the ground, and Mina cannot make them go away.'

Minerva felt her heart clench. Surely… _Surely_ the Minister had not sent Dementors up to the castle already? Without Albus here to monitor the situation?

'Where is Harry?' she asked in concern, already rising from her chair.

'Mina brings him upstairs, Mistress,' the elf answered. 'She could not wake him from his fit, and she is too scared to leave him near the creatures to get help.'

'Thank you, Mina,' Minerva said, already striding for the staircase. 'You did well to bring him back.'

She did not wait to see if the little elf departed, but shot up the steps two at a time toward Harry's room. Mina had left him on top of the bed, where he was still tossing and shivering, apparently unconscious.

'Harry!' she called, reaching for him.

His skin was icy to the touch, and Minerva quickly spelled the bedclothes down and over him, trying to warm the child. It took her nearly ten minutes to wake him from the spell, and when he finally opened his eyes he glanced around in terror and confusion.

'Hush,' Minerva said gently, laying a hand on Harry's shoulder reassuringly. 'It's alright. You're in your room.'

'Wh – what happened?' Harry asked thickly, adjusting himself so he was half-sitting up in the bed. 'What _were_ those things? Where's Mina?'

His teeth were still chattering. Minerva called for Mina again, who looked very happy to see Harry awake. The Transfiguration professor requested a mug of thick cocoa, which Mina brought immediately. Minerva pressed it into Harry's frigid hand.

'Drink it,' she insisted. 'It will help with the chill.'

Harry took a small sip. 'What happened?' he repeated again.

Minerva grimaced. 'It seems that Fudge has sent the Azkaban guards up ahead to the castle. From what Mina said, they came upon you in the grounds. You did not react well to their presence. Do not feel badly –' she added, as she saw Harry's cheeks redden in embarrassment. 'It is not uncommon to react similarly in the presence of Dementors, and you could not have expected their arrival. It was very lucky Mina was able to bring you back so quickly, or things might have been much worse.'

'Who else was out in the grounds, professor?' Harry asked curiously as Minerva tucked the covers up under his chin. She considered at him in confusion.

'Nobody, Harry,' she said. 'Just you and Mina, as far as I know. Hagrid is away on an errand for the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore himself has been at the Ministry since after luncheon, and everyone else was in the castle. Why do you ask?' A horrible thought occurred to her. 'Did you see someone?' she added fretfully.

'No. But someone was screaming,' Harry said quietly. 'A woman. She was terrified.'

Minerva eyed him in concern as he shivered. Though he'd been so chilled when Mina had brought him back to the room after the Dementors' appearance, Harry was now flushing slightly at the cheeks, sweating a bit even while he shook under the many blankets she'd wrapped around him. Minerva felt his forehead with the back of her hand, and frowned at the heat.

'I'm calling Poppy,' Minerva decided, sweeping toward the door. 'You're running a temperature.'

'I'm alright,' Harry tried to protest. 'Don't bother her, professor.'

'You're feverish and shaking like a leaf, Harry,' she said in exasperation. 'It is not up for discussion.'

'39.1,' Poppy read out five minutes later. 'Far too high for my comfort, Mr Potter. You'll be staying in bed the rest of the day or until it comes down, I'm afraid.'

Harry's eyes blazed in defiance. 'I'm fine!' he insisted, though he was still quite pale and shaking.

'You're not,' Minerva said firmly. 'We should never have let you out in the grounds on your own today… I can't believe the Minister.' She ran a hand over her plait.

Poppy huffed in agreement, now peering into Harry's eyes. 'Open up,' she said primly, shining her wandlight into the back of his throat. She frowned. 'A bit red,' she muttered. 'Had you been feeling ill before this afternoon, Potter?' the mediwitch asked, setting aside the wand and feeling beneath his jaw with the tips of her fingers.

'No,' said Harry, though with less conviction. Minerva gave him a sharp look, and he backtracked. 'Well, maybe a bit off this morning,' he amended. 'But I'm fine – really!'

Minerva rolled her eyes, and Poppy scoffed. 'Your glands are swollen too,' she pointed out, finishing her exam. 'Dementors would not cause this sort of reaction. Diagnostic it is, then,' she insisted, running her wand in a sweeping motion over Harry's prone form. She read over the results with a small frown on her face, as Harry continued to glare resentfully at the pair of them.

'Nothing too atrocious,' Poppy assured Minerva as she set the parchment aside. 'It looks like a simple throat infection. He should be up and about in a day or two.'

'I feel fine _now_ ,' Harry grumbled, but neither Minerva nor Poppy paid him any mind.

'I suppose I should not be surprised,' Minerva replied with a sigh. 'With the week he's had… And we kept him up past midnight too.' She wrung her hands fretfully.

'Perhaps,' said Poppy, shrugging. 'It is not so uncommon a time to come down with something – with the changing of the season. The encounter with the Dementors probably exacerbated things – I would not normally expect his fever to be quite so high with a mild virus like this. Do you have a tendency toward strep throat or tonsillitis, Potter?' she asked him.

Harry shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'I was hardly ever ill before Hogwarts. I think I had strep once; it went around my primary school when I was six or seven, but I don't remember having anything like that before or again.'

'Very well,' said Poppy, rummaging about in her satchel. 'Antipyretic, anti-inflammatory, and a draught of throat soother,' she rattled off, handing the phials of potion to Harry one at a time. He took them all with a martyred expression, and gratefully gulped the glass of pumpkin juice Minerva handed him when he'd finished. Poppy nodded in apparent satisfaction. Then she unwrapped a bar of chocolate and passed it to the boy.

'Chocolate?' said Harry with a look of confusion. 'Thanks, Madam Pomfrey, but I'm not that hungry just yet, and I've already had some cocoa.'

The mediwitch fixed him with a beady eyed stare. 'Chocolate is the best remedy to the influence of Dementors,' she told him. 'You'll eat the lot, whether you are hungry or not.'

Harry sighed, but obediently dug into the sweet without complaint.

'You're to stay in bed until I clear you to get up,' she told him sternly. 'Try and get some rest.'

Poppy packed up her satchel again and stood to go. 'Give him the fever reducer every four hours,' she instructed Minerva as she headed for the door. 'And as much chocolate as he can hold down. He should have another dose of the throat elixir and the anti-inflammatory this evening, and you can give him a sleeping potion if he has trouble in the night. Call me if any problems arise. Otherwise, I'll come back in the morning to check him over.'

Minerva nodded. 'Thank you, Poppy,' she said. The mediwitch patted her arm with a smile, and swept out of the room.

'Do I have to sleep?' Harry complained from behind her. He was already looking much better for the potions and the chocolate – a heathier colour returning to his cheeks. Minerva hesitated.

'Can't I at least _read_ or something?' Harry pressed. 'Snape's supposed to be testing me in Potions tomorrow, and he's never going to buy a stupid cold as a reason I wasn't prepared for the exam.'

' _Professor_ Snape, Harry,' Minerva corrected. 'And Severus will delay the examination a day or two, I assure you.'

She would make him, if nothing else.

She walked over to the bed again, smoothing the child's hair back from his forehead. 'You're still much too warm,' she said worriedly. 'I think you ought to try and rest for a few hours. Then, if you're feeling better when you wake, you can revise Potions this evening.'

Harry sighed, but snuggled deeper into the bed, apparently giving up the fight. Minerva smiled.

'Sleep well,' she said softly. And she shut the door gently behind her as she left the room.

She needed to owl Albus at once.

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Harry awoke to the sound of someone opening the door. The room was much darker, a beam of setting scarlet sunlight the only illumination. He struggled up a bit in the bed, squinting toward the arrival. Someone had removed his glasses while he slept.

'Did I wake you?' a soft voice asked from the doorway. 'I apologise. I've only come up to see if you were hungry – dinner's just finished in the Great Hall.'

Harry fumbled on his bedside table for his glasses, slipping them on to see Remus standing in the door, a tray laden with food in his hands.

'No, that's alright,' Harry said, straightening up a bit. 'I should be getting up anyway. I can't believe I slept so long.'

'It's understandable,' said Remus, setting the tray aside and sitting on the edge of Harry's bed. 'Minerva said you've come down with something. How are you feeling?' he asked, looking concerned as he surveyed Harry closely.

'I'm fine,' Harry grumbled. He was growing uncomfortable with all the solicitousness.

Remus gave him a small smile, but reached up to feel his forehead anyway.

'I'm glad you're feeling better,' he said, 'though you're still running a bit hot,' he added. Harry frowned, dodging out from under Remus' examination. This seemed to amuse the man, who chuckled lightly.

'I've brought your next dose of potions with me,' he said, indicating the tray. 'Poppy says you're to take them before you eat.'

'Right,' Harry said unenthusiastically. He downed the phials as Remus passed them over. They did make him feel slightly less lethargic, though he was loath to admit it to Remus.

'Are you hungry?' Remus inquired again. Harry shook his head.

'Not really,' he admitted.

'You should try and eat something, Harry,' Remus said, frowning at him. 'It'll help you to keep your strength up. And I promise Madam Pomfrey is never going to release you from bed tomorrow if she finds you haven't felt up to eating.'

'Maybe in a minute,' Harry agreed half-heartedly. He looked down, fingering the edge of the bedsheet. 'Did you hear about the Dementors?' he asked, in a softer voice.

'I did,' Remus affirmed, staring seriously at Harry again. 'And I'm sorry you were exposed like that. Albus is working on it – they aren't to be allowed to enter the grounds. The Minister sent them on ahead before Albus had a chance to meet with him, but they're coming to an agreement on the matter as we speak.'

'Here?' Harry asked hopefully.

'No,' Remus said, with an understanding smile of sympathy. 'The headmaster is still at the Ministry. But he shouldn't be long now.'

'Ok,' said Harry, slightly self-consciously. 'Do you… do you know much about Dementors, Remus?' he asked tentatively.

Remus considered a moment. 'I know… enough,' he hedged. 'Dementors are not often encountered outside of Azkaban prison. Not in Britain, at least. The Ministry arranged a pact with their kind many years ago. They gave them control of the wizard prison, and regulated ability to do what they will with the prisoners inside her walls. In exchange, every Dementor in the U.K. is supposed to remain at Azkaban, unless the Ministry dispatches them elsewhere. In other countries, there are still roaming populations. I saw a few in Germany during my time there, although their Ministry has also managed to restrict the Dementors to far-flung forests and limited areas. They are – as you have undoubtedly surmised, particularly unpleasant creatures to encounter. And highly dangerous.'

'They're horrible,' said Harry with feeling, shuddering at the memory. 'When they came at us, I felt so cold. Like there was a casing of ice around my heart. And I heard… awful things.'

Remus looked nervous now. 'What did you hear, Harry?' he asked quietly.

'A woman,' said Harry. 'A woman screaming. Pleading. I couldn't make out what she was saying… but I felt desperate and helpless. And I knew, somehow, what was happening. She was dying.'

Remus seemed unnerved. 'It is a power – a curse – of the Dementors,' he said slowly. 'They force one to hear terrible moments, drawn out and repeated in their minds. It is their way of incapacitating their victims, while they feed on emotion and positive energy. It is why so many people go mad in Azkaban.'

'I'll bet,' Harry said darkly. 'They're here for him, aren't they? To try and catch Sirius Black?'

Remus' face seemed to whiten a shade or two. 'Yes,' he said quietly. 'They will be stationed around the school for the foreseeable future, until Sirius Black is apprehended again. Though, as I say, I do not believe that Dumbledore will allow them onto the castle grounds – especially not after what happened this afternoon.'

'Professor Dumbledore thinks that Black's coming for me,' Harry confided. 'Apparently, he's been talking about Hogwarts in his sleep. The Ministry reckons he's after me because of what happened the night that Voldemort killed my mum and dad.'

There was no mistaking the pained expression that crossed Remus' face at the words. Harry felt a little guilty for stating it so bluntly. 'Yes, Albus mentioned something to that affect,' Remus admitted. He was gazing at Harry with a very odd expression – part calculating, part, perhaps, possessiveness… maybe even love. 'Do not worry,' he assured Harry. 'He cannot get to you while you are so well protected. I won't let him, and neither will Albus or Minerva.'

'I know,' Harry assured him, offering a small smile of his own. 'I'm not scared. It just seems odd – that he would wait twelve whole years to come after me. I mean, I'm not even thirteen… how much danger could he think I was? And even if I had superpowers or something, why wait so long to come for me?'

Remus laid a hand on his shoulder. 'Let's talk of something else, Harry,' he said with forced brightness. 'This discussion of Dementors and darkness is riling you up. It's not going to help your fever.'

'I feel _fine_ ,' Harry repeated in a whinge. Remus merely smiled.

'Dumbledore came to see me this morning,' Remus offered, changing the subject. 'He wanted to know if I would be interested in teaching you.'

'For the summer?' Harry asked, cheering up at once. 'That would be brilliant! What are you going to be teaching me? When can we start?'

'I take it you are enthusiastic about the scheme, then?' Remus asked, laughing as Harry practically bounced in the bed. 'I'll make you a deal. You start on this delicious dinner I've slaved over –'

Harry gave him a disbelieving eye-roll, and Remus laughed again.

'Oh, alright, this delicious dinner _Mina_ has slaved over,' he amended, 'and I'll tell you about the discussion I had with the headmaster.'

'Oh, go on then,' Harry agreed. He was suddenly in such a better temper anyway, he found he was quite hungry. Which was good, because he was starting to suspect that Remus fussed worse than McGonagall. He accepted the tray with a word of thanks, digging into the steak and kidney pie as Remus continued his explanation.

'First off – no, not for the summer, precisely, although we would begin sometime next week. Albus has asked if I would take the post of Defence Against the Dart Arts professor for next term.'

' _What_!' Harry exclaimed, thrilled. He nearly choked on his bite in his excitement, and hurriedly washed down the offending food with a gulp of juice. 'That would be wicked, Remus! Or, I suppose I should call you Professor Lupin, now,' he added, grinning.

'Not just yet,' said Lupin, though his eyes were dancing. 'In lessons, perhaps, but you can continue to call me Remus until school begins. I would feel very strange having James' son refer to me any other way… and besides, I have not given the headmaster my answer yet.'

'Why not?' asked Harry in confusion. 'You would be great, Remus, I know it! And we haven't had a proper defence teacher yet – Lockhart was a tosser and a fraud, and Quirrell was secretly hosting Lord Voldemort. It's about time Dumbledore hired someone decent for the job!'

'Mind your language,' Remus reproached him, though his smile negated the reprimand. 'I have a few things to consider, Harry, before I can commit to taking the position.'

Harry felt the little bubble that had risen inside him deflate a bit. 'Don't you want to teach us?' he asked, a bit of childish plea creeping into his voice.

'Of course I do, Harry,' Remus assured him. 'But I am… ill. I have been for a long time now, since before I even came to Hogwarts as a student.'

Harry felt suddenly awful for his whinging. 'Can't Madam Pomfrey give you something for it?' he asked quietly. He'd never had an illness or an injury that Madam Pomfrey couldn't sort out straight away.

Remus smiled a little sadly. 'No, not for this,' he said. 'There is a potion that helps – you saw me taking it at your aunt and uncle's house. But there is no known cure for the disease.'

'You mean,' said Harry, remembering how ill Remus had looked in the last few days. He still looked quite haggard now, actually. 'You mean you get that way a lot – how you felt when you had to go away?'

'Yes,' Remus acknowledged with a sigh. 'About once a month, give or take. It gets better for a while, but it always returns.'

Harry frowned. He'd never heard of a disease like that before. Well, except…

'Do you have cancer?' he asked, quietly. 'I had a Muggle teacher who had it once, in primary school. She was out lots of days, and then she'd come back for a few weeks and she seemed fine. But she lost all her hair… and then one week, she never came back.'

'No, Harry,' Remus assured him. 'It's nothing like that. Cancers are incredibly rare in wizards – the magic we have usually destroys the disease before it can take hold. It is almost entirely a Muggle phenomenon. This is more of a… chronic condition. It won't kill me, but it will affect me the rest of my life.'

'Oh,' said Harry, feeling a little relieved. He was insanely curious about this strange illness, but he felt it would be rude to press Remus for more details. 'Does Dumbledore know you're ill?' he asked instead.

'Yes,' Remus assured him. 'He's known since I was a child. Your dad did too – he and our friends were always very good about it.'

'Well then,' Harry reasoned, 'If Dumbledore knows and he still wants you to teach, then he must think it wouldn't be such a big deal.'

'Dumbledore… thinks that we can work out a suitable arrangement,' Remus allowed. 'But things are not nearly so simple. My condition would mean that you were without lessons – or with a substitute professor – for several days a month. And there are other risks to consider.'

'It doesn't matter!' Harry insisted. 'We _need_ a good teacher, Remus. You should do it.'

'Eat the pudding, it's quite nice,' Remus said, nodding toward Harry's unfinished tray. 'And I promise, I shall think about it.'

Harry nodded, knowing that was the best he was going to get for now.

'What will you be teaching me?' he asked, once he'd cleaned the plate and was starting to feel quite full and sleepy once more.

'Some defensive magic, I think. We can decide on the details together, once you're back on your feet,' said Remus. He helped Harry lie back against the pillows, recognising his exhaustion, and set a hand on his forehead again. 'I think perhaps you ought to get some more sleep… your temperature does not seem to have gone down much from the last dose of antipyretic.'

Harry was irritated. He _hated_ to be cooped up like this. Those Dementors…

'Isn't there a spell that works against them?' he asked in frustration. 'A way to beat them?'

'Beat what, Harry?' Remus asked, his hand still resting on Harry's head.

'The Dementors!' Harry growled. 'I can't stand feeling like this – it's not fair. There must be some way to counter it.'

Remus hesitated. 'There is a charm,' he admitted. 'But it is very, _very_ advanced magic. It is not even taught at Hogwarts, usually. When it is, it is never before seventh year.'

'What's it called?' said Harry at once, pushing himself upward again. Remus palmed his chest, pressing him firmly back down to the mattress.

'It is called the Patronus Charm,' Remus explained. 'It is a highly advanced concentration of defensive magic; a focused form of the very emotions that Dementors feed off of. When conjured correctly, it will repel a Dementor. But Harry, the spell is beyond most fully trained wizards. To manage it at your age… it may be entirely impossible.'

'I've got to try!' Harry insisted. 'Can't you teach me, over the summer?'

'We'll see,' Remus said enigmatically, pulling the bedclothes firmly around him. 'Just rest for now. We'll discuss it further in the morning.'

Harry did not want to. He wanted to talk about it _now_. He wanted a firm commitment from Remus – a promise that he'd teach Harry how to beat the Dementors.

But the bed was so warm and soft… his eyes were so very heavy… and Harry found he could not keep them open any longer tonight.


	6. Custodes Lucem Et Obices ad Tenebras

**A/N:** I am so sorry – I know this chapter has been more than a fortnight in the works. I do hope it is worth the wait. The next instalment will not be nearly so far off – I won't give a promised date as I don't want to disappoint everyone after the madness of the past few weeks, but I'm setting my personal goal for under a week. Thank you to everyone who reviewed – it is so encouraging and gratifying to see readers' responses! A few review replies below… otherwise – enjoy! And a HUGE thank you to **Mizuraikage** , who's helpful message allowed me to finally sort the issue with fanfiction's uploading!

 **Babascoop:** Thank you again for your review! I'm glad you thought Remus's character was a bit more multi-faceted – he and Sirius will be new additions to our POV characters from here on out. I find his decade-plus gap from Harry's life most interesting… and we'll be slowly exploring that, among other things, as we move forward.

 **BlueWater5** : Thank you for your review! The information on the patronus charm is canon – the charm is considered to be above N.E.W.T. level, and thus not generally taught at Hogwarts except under special circumstances. That said, I agree with you that an uncanny number of D.A. members and Order members can perform the charm. The Order explanation is simple – it is their primary method of emergency communication, so Dumbledore obviously ensures that everyone who is capable of performing the charm can do so. The D.A…Harry works quite hard on getting everyone he can to perform the magic, even though they are all quite young and at varying levels. A _lot_ of the students are successful… but then, they are not faced with a dementor or lethifold in the classroom, so it was hardly under true circumstances. Only Ginny, Ernie, and Luna (and obviously Ron and Hermione) are later confirmed to be able to do it in front of a dementor for certain, although I suppose it's theoretically possible that others would also be capable.

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 6: Custodes Lucem Et Obices ad Tenebras**

Albus returned from the Ministry past eleven, exhausted and frustrated with the long day's negotiations. He'd been furious to learn from Minerva that the Dementors had already arrived at the castle, _without_ his approval. The ensuing argument with Fudge and his worries for Harry had left him with an uncharacteristic migraine.

'How is he?' he asked Minerva, as he stepped out of the floo and into his study at last. Minerva, who'd been sipping at a nightcap on the sofa, set the drink aside as she turned to face him.

'Rather irritable at being kept to bed and still running a slight temperature, but he should be alright in a day or two,' she replied. 'Poppy thinks he had probably contracted some mild illness beforehand. I cannot believe Fudge sent those horrible things up to the castle! Today could have been so much worse – it was a very near thing as it was.'

'I know,' Albus agreed, sinking heavily into the armchair and rubbing at the dull ache in his temple. 'I have already told Cornelius that they cannot be allowed to enter the grounds again. I will agree to let the Ministry station Dementors at the gates and perimeter… but I cannot abide their presence so near the school and students. It is against my better inclination even to consent to their placement in Hogsmeade. However, allowance must be made, I suppose, for the safety of everyone. I freely admit it does little to quiet my own discomfort.'

'I'm sure,' added Minerva darkly. She flicked her wand at the decanter, pouring a measure of scotch for Albus. He took the floating glass from mid-air with a grateful inclination of his head.

'Is Harry asleep?' Albus asked as he took a pull from the drink.

'Yes,' Minerva replied. 'Remus brought him up some supper a few hours ago, and he said he drifted off around half past nine. I haven't wanted to wake him… he'll need a fever reducer in the night, but otherwise I thought it best to let him rest for a while.'

'Of course,' Albus agreed. He sighed. 'We will have to address the Dementors. I'm sure Harry will have questions.'

Minerva grimaced, swirling her own scotch. 'Yes,' she said. 'He told me… I'm not sure what, to be honest. But he said he heard a woman screaming, when the Dementors approached him this afternoon. Remus said he'd repeated the story to him. He says Harry believes it was a woman begging for her life.'

'Lily,' breathed Albus, very quietly.

'I expect so, yes,' agreed Minerva. 'I don't know that Harry has realised it, at this point. But undoubtedly he will figure it out eventually. We must ensure that he does not come into contact with those horrors again, Albus. No child needs to relive their parents' murder.'

'Yes,' Albus agreed. 'But I don't know that it is so easily forgotten… memories have a way of resurfacing, and our worst more than the rest. I think we should be prepared for the conversation, whether Harry happens upon the Dementors again or not.'

Minerva sighed, but did not contradict him. They sipped their drinks in silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts.

'Did you speak with Remus about the position?' Minerva asked, changing the subject. 'He was rather drawn himself tonight, and I didn't get the chance to ask him before he set off for bed.'

'I did. He is hesitant, as I expected he might be, but I am hopeful he will agree to fill the post before the summer is out. He would be an excellent addition to the staff.'

'Severus will not be pleased,' Minerva observed, a small smile creeping across her lips.

'Perhaps not,' Albus allowed. 'But Remus is more than capable, and Severus is a grown man. School boy grudges fade, in time.'

Minerva snorted, raising a supercilious eyebrow. 'If only that were true,' she said dryly. She drained the last of her scotch and cleared the empty tumbler with a casual flick of her wand, making to stand. 'I'll stay tonight, I think,' she added, making to dim the lights. 'In case Harry has trouble in the night.'

'I'm happy to have you, of course,' said Albus, finishing his own drink. 'But I can manage Harry if you'd rather get your rest.'

'Don't be silly,' said Minerva, already dousing the candles on the mantle. 'You've had quite a long day yourself. And I expect Cornelius was trial enough for one day. You ought to come up to bed.'

Albus nodded as he got to his feet, and followed her up the staircase.

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Harry's fever was nearly gone by the following morning. Madam Pomfrey, however, to Harry's great consternation, insisted that he spend another day in bed and on her potions, 'just to be safe.' No amount of needling Dumbledore or McGonagall could convince them to free him from his jail, though McGonagall did allow him to revise his Potions materials from bed.

Dumbledore spent much of the day keeping him company, working on some of his own paperwork while Harry studied, and occasionally breaking the monotony with conversation. Harry rather thought he was feeling guilty for having been away at the Ministry most of the previous day. It was not until after lunch that they came around to the subject of Dementors once more, when Dumbledore admitted to Harry that they would be stationed at the entrances to the grounds for the foreseeable future, though not permitted to come near the school or students. Harry was not happy with the idea, and he didn't think the headmaster looked particularly pleased either.

'What exactly _are_ Dementors, sir?' Harry asked, as Mina popped out of the bedchamber with their empty trays.

Dumbledore sighed. 'An interesting question, Harry. But, I am afraid, one without a simple answer. Dementors belong to a class of magical creature that we sometimes refer to as "non-beings." You have not, of course, had Care of Magical Creatures yet, but perhaps you have come across the term in Defence Against the Dark Arts?'

Harry gave him an incredulous look. 'From Lockhart or Quirrell, professor? You must be joking. The only dark creatures we ever studied were pixies… and that was a complete disaster.'

Dumbledore chuckled, though he seemed a bit sad. 'So I have heard,' he admitted. 'Alas – pixies are not truly dark creatures in any case… notorious pranksters, to be sure, but they rarely cause any significant or lasting harm. Dementors, however, are a different case entirely.'

'So what _are_ non-beings then, sir?' Harry asked.

'Non-beings are a group of magical creatures that are not truly living and yet not dead. They are apparitions, for want of a better term, capable of interacting with the living in a way that true spirits, or ghosts, cannot. There are a number of creatures which fall into this group, some of which are more harmful than others,' the headmaster explained. 'Actually, Dementors are not the only creature thus classified that you have encountered in your time at Hogwarts.'

Harry wracked his brains as Dumbledore smiled expectantly at him. A creature that wasn't quite living and not dead… that interacted with people…

'Peeves?' he guessed. Dumbledore beamed.

'Indeed,' he agreed, nodding his head. 'Very good, Harry. Poltergeists too belong to the non-being family, though of course they a very different sort of phenomenon then Dementors. Non-beings are rather broadly classified, but they all share certain similarities. They cannot be seen by Muggles for instance, except in very rare cases, although Muggles can sense them and feel their effects. They are also considered to be amortal.'

' _Amortal_?' Harry repeated, confused.

'It is a term that refers to an entity that is not born, and thus cannot be truly killed. Non-beings are created from and thrive on human emotion, so their numbers can always increase. Some describe their existence like an invasive plant or a fungus.'

'So… so you can't _kill_ Dementors?' Harry asked in clarification, feeling his heart sink a little.

'Not in the traditional sense, no,' Dumbledore agreed. 'We normally keep our Dementor population isolated at Azkaban, as a means of protecting society and as a way to keep their numbers at a controllable level, although this in itself has its own set of complications.'

'Remus mentioned that,' Harry said. 'Why Azkaban? Is it just because the Ministry thinks it doesn't matter so much what they might do to criminals?'

'Not solely, although that certainly plays a role' Dumbledore admitted. 'The Dementors are believed to have come from Azkaban. The island is often considered their origin – their birthplace, for want of a more descriptive term.'

'What, for all the Dementors in the world?' Harry asked, surprised.

'Well, all the Dementors in Britain,' clarified the headmaster. 'It is not clear whether they had existed before in this world, although there are legends that predate what is certain. Azkaban has a very mysterious history. The island was first discovered in the late 15th century by the Ministry. But it had been occupied and in use for many decades beforehand, by a dark sorcerer named Ekrizdis. Ekrizdis built the fortress, and used the island to lure passing Muggle ships from the dangerous waters. He tortured and murdered hundreds of sailors, practising the darkest of magics. When he passed away, the concealment charms he'd placed to secure the island's secrecy from the wizarding world began to fade, and Azkaban was discovered. The Ministry wizards who arrived to investigate found the Dementors at the fortress. Nobody knows exactly how they came to be there. For several hundreds of years, the Ministry chose to leave the island isolated, not wanting to disrupt the colony or feel their effects. But in 1718, our Minister for Magic, a man named Damocles Rowle, decided that the Dementors' presence could be put to use. He elected to turn the fortress into a prison, and send wizarding criminals to serve their sentences in the Dementors' presence. Thus, Azkaban Prison was created.'

Harry shuddered. An island teeming with those horrible creatures… he could understand, now, why Hagrid thought Azkaban such a terrible place. It would be intolerable to be in their presence every hour of the day.

'And they're to stay here, sir?' Harry asked.

'Outside of the grounds, but yes, Harry, they will be here until Black has been apprehended,' Dumbledore confirmed, looking quite grave. 'I am not happy about it either, but Cornelius and I are at least in agreement that the school's safety, and yours, particularly, must take precedence.'

Harry sighed. 'Well, I guess with so many looking for him, it shouldn't be long until he's caught again.'

'Let us hope not,' Dumbledore said, smiling a little. 'Now, I think perhaps you ought to take these and have a bit of a lie down, before Madam Pomfrey has both our heads,' he said, nodding at the potions on Harry's bedside table.

Harry scowled. 'I'm not even feeling ill anymore, sir,' he complained. 'And I don't want to go to sleep again.'

'Cheer up, Harry,' Dumbledore said, uncorking one of the phials. 'It's only until tomorrow. I dare say you'll survive one more afternoon of rest.'

'I might, but then I've got my Potions exam to look forward to, haven't I?' Harry grumbled as he drank the phial down. His eyes felt heavier almost at once. He suspected one of the adults had mixed in a sleeping draught.

'I'm sure Severus would be glad to give you a bit of time to recover,' Dumbledore assured him, passing over the next.

Harry wanted to disabuse Dumbledore of this foolish notion… but found he was too sleepy already.

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Severus was sieving a fresh batch of armadillo bile when he heard a sharp knock at the laboratory door.

'Enter,' he called to his visitor.

He knew it would be Albus, even before the man entered the office. Sure enough, the headmaster swept into the room, brilliant silver robes flowing about him and sharpening his resemblance to Merlin.

'Good afternoon, Severus,' Albus greeted, seating himself casually on the edge of the work table closest to the Potions master's station and popping a sherbet lemon into his mouth.

Whatever the resemblance, Severus was fairly certain Merlin himself was never quite so eccentric.

'Albus,' Severus acknowledged with a stiff nod. He finished his task and set the bowl aside, turning for the basin to clean his hands. 'To what do I owe the pleasure?' he asked when Albus had still not spoken his purpose, closing the tap and reaching for a tea towel.

'Ah, a bit of this and that, my boy,' the headmaster said airily, twinkling as Severus seated himself back in the chair he'd been working in. 'I wanted to speak with you about Harry.'

Severus scowled. 'What about him, precisely, headmaster?'

'Is it quite necessary to force him into sitting this examination?' Albus asked, fixing Severus with his piercing stare. 'We gave all the children a reprieve this year. I rather think that should include Harry. Him, perhaps, most of all.'

Severus' scowl deepened at the unsubtle reminder of the boy's foolhardy actions at the end of term. 'I cannot agree, headmaster,' he said through gritted teeth. 'It was you, after all, who insisted so passionately only last summer that Potter must be taught all we had to impart, and forced me into twice weekly lessons with the brat. I find your current attitude beguiling, given the intensity of your determination last year.'

'Oh, I still believe we must do all we can, Severus. The current state of things since Black's escape only furthers my conviction on that score. But I hardly think a formal examination necessary to commence the summer schedule.'

Severus considered Albus, still scowling. 'Perhaps that is your feeling, headmaster,' he allowed, 'But I believe it is _my_ decision that counts, in this, as it is my subject, and under my jurisdiction. Potter's marks for the term have already been submitted – the examination will not affect his performance for the year. He bears no academic consequence beyond the setting of his summer schedule. Which, as his instructor, it is well within my discretion to determine. If the brat has chosen to complain now, no doubt it is because he has failed to do the required revisions in time. Potter knew the terms of the arrangement when we spoke at the end of the term. I will not alter my requirements just because he has found lazing about a more prudent use of his summer thus far.'

'The terms of your arrangement?' Albus echoed. 'What arrangement would that be, Severus?'

Severus cocked his head, considering Albus with a calculating gaze. 'Has Potter not said?' he asked.

Albus merely stared back, frowning slightly. Severus smiled a little. _This_ was certainly an interesting development. He savoured the moment a bit – it was not often he found himself in possession of information that the headmaster did not know.

'I spoke with the boy after his… interesting display of wandless magic. His several displays, in fact. I was intrigued,' he began.

'As were we all,' said Albus, nodding his agreement. 'A most interesting and extraordinary display of power. Although, as I have said before, Harry is a uniquely talented wizard in many ways.'

Severus rolled his eyes. 'I shall ignore the debate on the merits of that claim for now, headmaster,' he said dryly. 'In any event, I find Potter's affinity for wandless spells most interesting. We have seen yet another little display just this past Sunday. But, thus far, he seems to perform this magic in times of great stress, or dire circumstances. Not unusual, given the close affinity of wandless casting and emotional response – but he will continue to tire and drain his core whenever he performs such feats, unless he is properly trained in the subject. _If_ he has a true talent for it, and not merely an inability to stifle his emotions which I still suspect might be the case, it could be a useful skill in future.'

Albus was smiling now. 'A thought I have had myself,' he admitted. 'Though I was intending to wait a year or two to discuss it further with him, until his magical core was a bit more mature. Are you suggesting I take up his instruction in wandless magic this summer?'

Severus smirked. 'That should be quite unnecessary,' he said, deliberately making his voice as light and careless as he could. 'As I have already informed Potter that I shall be instructing him in the art.'

Severus' momentary triumph in shocking the headmaster so completely began to fade as Albus' eyes started to twinkle in such glowing satisfaction it almost cost him his lunch.

'What excellent news, Severus!' Albus exclaimed. 'I cannot tell you how it pleases me, my boy, to hear you have offered to take a more active role in Harry's life.'

'In his _education_ , Albus,' Severus corrected immediately, returning to his usual sarcastic tone. 'In his education _only_. And it is as much in my interest as his… I suspect there is far less a chance of his exploding my classroom with basic wandless magic than his abysmal attempts to brew, and I rather think teaching a different subject for a time will break the monotony nicely.' He shot a pointed look at the headmaster.

'I daresay it will,' the headmaster acknowledged, still twinkling madly at him. 'But surely you are not intending to give up Harry's education in Potions as well? There is time enough for a little of both, I should think.'

Severus rolled his eyes. 'Just how much of my own holiday am I expected to devote to the brat, Albus?' he asked in annoyance. 'I have told Potter that if he successfully performs on his Potions examination, I will tutor him in wandless magic over the summer. That is all I intend to teach him.'

Albus looked at him seriously over the tips of his long fingers, pressed together at his chin. Severus could see he was still sucking that blasted sherbet lemon.

'I wish him to continue studying Potions,' Albus said at last. 'His performance and confidence were both well served this past year after the summer lessons. But I am in agreement with you that he has shown enough skill to merit instruction in wandless magic – or at least enough that we should make the attempt and see what he is currently capable of. So the question becomes, Severus, do _you_ wish to instruct him in wandless magic? Or shall I take the task in hand?'

Severus glared back for a long moment. He knew Albus could teach the brat just as well – better, perhaps, as his knowledge was certainly greater than the Potions master's. He knew Albus _would_ teach Potter, if Severus did not – whatever tale Severus might have fed to the boy about the many demands on the headmaster's time this summer.

But he _wanted_ to do it.

'I shall do it,' he spat finally, hating himself for the admission.

'Splendid!' Albus said, clapping his hands together in satisfaction. 'Well then, I will offer no further objection to your scheme to have Harry sit the Potions examination –'

'How thrilling,' Snape grumbled.

'But I must insist you put it off for a few days.'

Severus crossed his arms, his glare back in place. 'And why is that?' he asked sourly. 'Potter has known for weeks that he's to sit the exam tomorrow. If you're telling me he needs additional time to prepare, I'm afraid I'm not going to –'

'He has been ill, Severus,' Albus said. 'Surely you can make some allowances.'

Severus waved an impatient hand. 'Yes, I heard about the Dementors, Albus,' he said dismissively.

'Poppy has kept him to bed until tomorrow,' Albus continued. 'I cannot think it fair that he should be worried he must sit your exam in the morning while he is supposed to be resting.'

'Two days in bed to recover from a Dementor attack?' asked Severus, frowning. Come to think of it, he hadn't yet seen the boy wandering the castle corridors. 'That seems rather excessive, even for Poppy.'

'Yes, well, he seems to have been fighting something off already,' Albus explained. 'And I think the Dementors affected him more significantly than what might be considered usual.'

'How so?' asked Severus, though he was not particularly surprised, with the boy's history.

'He passed out from the interaction – it took Mina and Minerva more than fifteen minutes to revive him to consciousness. And he states that he heard a woman screaming, pleading for her life, when they approached him.'

Severus felt cold and numb himself… he could see it again, in his mind's eye: the broken, crumpled form of Lily Evans on the nursery floor, almond green eyes open and lifeless; the baby, wailing and bleeding in the cot behind her.

He swallowed, not looking at the headmaster.

'He can have until Thursday,' he said gruffly, busying himself over the bowl of armadillo bile again to avoid Albus' eye. 'But do know that I'll adjust the tested materials accordingly.

'I would expect nothing less, Severus,' said Albus knowingly. He popped off the edge of his work table, smoothing the front of his robes. 'Well, I ought to head back,' he said in a brighter voice. 'I shall see you at dinner later.'

Severus hesitated a moment, as Albus turned toward the door.

'Did you tell him?' he asked quietly. The headmaster turned back, his eyes inquiring.

'Tell him what?'

'Did you tell the br – Potter. Did you tell Potter that he was almost certainly hearing Her?' Severus asked. He was disgusted to find his own voice a bit thicker than usual.

Albus' eyes were sad, and full of understanding. Severus could not stand the scrutiny. He turned away and back to the bowl of bile, though there was really nothing to be done to it anymore.

'No,' the headmaster said quietly. 'I'm sure I will have to, eventually. He may even figure it out on his own… but I could not lay another horror on his shoulders just now.'

Severus nodded once, stirring the foul liquid before him unnecessarily. He felt a long-fingered hand close briefly on his shoulder, and then headmaster swept from the room without another word.

Severus was grateful. There were no words that could have offered comfort in this moment.

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Harry sat his Potions examination on Thursday morning. Snape had given him one extra day, after he was finally released from his imposed bedrest. Harry rather suspected that the delay was McGonagall or the headmaster's doing, because Snape had certainly not been particularly gracious about the announcement at breakfast.

The test was just as trying as he had expected and dreaded it would be. There were nearly one-hundred written questions of various length, and then Snape had him brew two potions – one of which he'd seen before, and one that he had not – during the practical portion of the examination. Harry found out quickly why the dragon gloves were necessary, as the very first ingredient in the unknown brew was diced liver of spiny pufferfish, and Harry had to dissect the disgusting, prickly creature in order to reach the organ. Snape, who sat flipping through some journal at his desk while Harry worked, casually reminded Harry as he made for the supply table that the professor had laid out that pufferfish were not only covered in delicate spines, but also highly poisonous.

At least he'd spoken up before Harry had begun to cut.

Six hours later, Harry finally left the dungeons. He was ravenous (having worked straight through lunch) and quite sweaty from his feverish brewing, but overall he thought the examination had gone rather well. He'd felt confident in the written portion and – though he worried the fertilising elixir could have been a shade lighter – he was reasonably confident that both his practical efforts were passable. Snape gave a completely inscrutable nod at the cauldrons when Harry announced he was finished, and sent him off with the pronouncement that he'd have Harry's marks by supper.

He collapsed gratefully onto the sofa in the headmaster's study. He was far too exhausted and famished for anything strenuous.

'Goodness, you look as though you've been in the trenches,' Professor McGonagall announced, sweeping down the staircase from the quarters above with a slightly worried frown.

'I feel like it too,' said Harry wearily. 'Just tired!' he amended quickly, as McGonagall's frown deepened and she hurried over to peer more closely at him. 'The exam was really tough. And I'm starving!'

McGonagall looked scandalised. 'Severus did not allow you lunch?' she asked, hands on her hips.

Harry shrugged. 'To be fair, I didn't ask. I just wanted to get the whole thing over with at that point.'

McGonagall shook her head in apparent exasperation, but called for Mina at once to bring up a few sandwiches and some iced pumpkin juice for Harry. He dug in immediately.

'You ought to rest a bit this afternoon,' McGonagall opined, seating herself on the ottoman. 'You don't need a relapse.'

Harry rolled his eyes, swallowing a particularly large mouthful of sandwich with some difficulty to hasten his protest. 'I'm _fine_ , professor,' he insisted. 'And I've rested enough for the whole month at this rate. I wanted to go and see Remus this afternoon.'

'No cheek!' McGonagall reprimanded. But she smiled. 'If you're quite sure you aren't too tired; I think Remus was headed to the library after luncheon. You might find him there.'

'Brilliant!' said Harry enthusiastically. He scarfed down the rest of the food as quickly as he could, and pushed himself off the sofa again. 'Thanks for the sandwiches, professor. I'll see you at dinner!'

McGonagall nodded, and Harry tore off for the library.

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Remus was sitting at a long oak table, perusing a pile of carefully selected tomes, when hurried footsteps echoed off the marble floor. He looked up to see Harry rushing through the library toward him, beaming happily and looking quite relieved to have his examination finished. He smiled as the boy reached the table.

'Good afternoon, Harry,' he said. 'How did the exam go?'

'Pretty well, I think,' Harry replied, perching himself on a stool opposite Remus. 'We'll see though – Snape said he'd mark it before dinner.'

'I'm sure you did wonderfully,' Remus offered bracingly, clearing a bit of space so that they could see each other across the crowded table. Harry looked curiously at the titles of the books.

'Defence books,' he observed, eyes alight with excitement. 'Have you decided to take the post, then?'

'Not quite yet,' Remus admitted. 'But I'm considering it carefully. I looked out the library's offerings for some ideas about our lessons this summer, actually.'

Harry shifted a bit closer to the table, looking intrigued. 'What are you going to teach me?'

'Well, as I said before, I think we can decide on some of the curriculum together. The headmaster mentioned he's already gone over some defence work with you, and you're quite adept at the subject.'

Harry blushed. 'I dunno about that,' he said modestly. 'But I liked the lessons. Dumbledore mostly taught defensive spellwork – like duelling. I don't think Professor McGonagall was all that keen on it, but I thought it was brilliant.'

Remus smiled again. 'Well, Professor Dumbledore seems to think you're very skilled in that area. This summer, however, he wishes to use his own lessons with you to teach a different mixture of magics, with a bit less focus on combative spells.'

'What sort?' asked Harry, surprised. 'Isn't learning to fight the most important kind of magic to learn?'

Remus gave a deep laugh. 'Oh, Harry,' he said, still chuckling. 'Since I've got to know you over the past few weeks, you continue to surprise me. You share some similarities to James, but even more, I think, to Lily. And then, there is much about you that is uniquely yours alone. But _that_ – that statement was all James.' He laughed again, not least because Harry was looking an odd mixture of confused and offended.

'What sort of magic is more important, then?' Harry challenged, when Remus had recovered himself.

Remus continued to smile, but did not give the secret away. 'I think I'll let the headmaster explain the details,' he said instead.

Harry sighed. 'Well, I'll ask him if I ever _see_ him again,' he said, sounding a bit ornery. 'He's gone off to the Ministry again, I think. He'd left the castle before I even got up this morning.'

Remus sighed. 'I know it's hard sometimes, Harry,' he said in understanding. 'But this situation with Sirius Black has everyone on edge. Dumbledore is the most venerable wizard in Britain – possibly in the whole of our world, you know that. His assistance will be needed to deal with the crisis, not least because it is so closely tied with your safety. He would not go if he could avoid it.'

'I know,' said Harry in a small voice. 'It's just… I just got back. I wish I could see him a bit more.'

Remus reached across the table, taking Harry's small hand in his own. He gave it a light squeeze of sympathy and comfort. 'I'm sure he will be back in time for dinner,' he said reassuringly. 'Now,' he added, trying for light-hearted again. 'What say we talk about _our_ lessons for the next two months? I was thinking we could do a bit more on duelling, since you seem to like it and Dumbledore will probably take your studies in a different direction… I'd like to teach you about dark creatures, but it'll take a few weeks to scrounge up some specimens, and that sort of thing is much better taught practically than out of a book. But we could –'

'I want you to teach me how to stop the Dementors,' Harry interrupted. 'Can't you show me that charm you talked about a few days ago?'

Remus hesitated. He had rather hoped Harry might have forgotten that conversation.

'Please?' Harry pressed.

'It is _very_ difficult magic, Harry,' Remus cautioned. 'You are probably far too young to learn it yet. Most adult wizards have trouble with the patronus charm.'

'I'll work really, really hard, Remus,' Harry insisted. 'I don't care if it takes me forever to learn it – I just want to know how.'

Remus stared into the determined young face for a long moment, teetering. 'Very well,' he said at last. Harry broke into a beaming smile, but Remus held up a cautionary hand. 'I will teach you the incantation,' he clarified, 'And try and show you how to use the spell. But Harry – I make no promises that you will be able to perform it. And you must realise that casting a patronus outside of the presence of a dark creature is quite different from performing it under the circumstances you faced with the Dementors' advance. There is every possibility that you will not be able to do that, yet.'

'I understand,' Harry said quickly.

'Very well.' Remus began to dig through the nearest pile of books, emerging a moment later with a battered copy of _Protection in the Face of Darkness_ , by Nimue Lacus. He handed the book to Harry. 'You might have a look at this, for a start,' he offered. 'Chapter Seven will tell you a bit about the spell.'

'It's ancient,' said Harry, flipping the book open delicately.

'Yes,' Remus agreed. 'The book itself is quite an old copy, but the history of the incantation is even older. This is but a written account of many oral histories, first recorded in the eleventh century, and there are many indications that the patronus predates even these. Many of our oldest protective and defensive charms are derived from the most ancient realms of magic.'

Harry, who had located the assigned chapter, read aloud: 'Custodes lucem et obices ad tenebras.' He looked up. 'What does that mean?'

Remus smiled, pushing over a blank sheet of parchment. 'Mark the page,' he suggested. 'And you can read it for next Monday and tell me yourself.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Homework already?' he complained, but the whinge was mostly teasing. He stuck the proffered parchment into the book to mark the place, and carefully shut the tome again. Remus saw his brow furrow, as one hand traced the golden letters of the author's name.

'Something wrong?' he prompted, when Harry looked up.

'Not particularly,' Harry said slowly. 'But… I think I know this name.'

'Nimue,' Remus clarified, not bothering to reference the embossed lettering. 'Yes, I'm quite certain you do know of her.'

'Who is she?' Harry asked. 'Has she written another of our textbooks or something?'

'No,' said Remus, still smiling. 'She did not even truly write this one; or, rather, we do not know if she did. Her name has been associated with this particular tome for centuries, though whether that is because she was in fact its original author or merely because legend enveloped truth, I do not know. She has been called a heroine, and equally a villain; treated in legend as both light and dark. She has been given many names – Viviane, Nyneve, Evianne… but her true name is believed, among wizarding folk, to have been Nimue. I believe Professor Dumbledore will talk to you further on the subject sometime this summer, if you ask him. He knows a great deal more of the history than I.'

'Ok…' said Harry, still sounding confused. 'But why would _I_ know her?'

'Because,' Remus explained, 'Even among Muggles she is a legendary figure. In addition to her own substantial contributions to magic, she was married to the most influential wizard the world has ever seen.'

' _WHO_?' asked Harry, clearly growing irritated. Remus laughed at his frustration.

'Merlin, Harry.'

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Several hours later, Harry dropped into a chair at the long table in the Great Hall for dinner, looking forlornly at the empty place in the centre of the table.

He tried not to be resentful toward Dumbledore for his absence… Remus was right, of course. Dumbledore's eminence was bound to call him away from Hogwarts during such a time of upheaval in the wizarding world. Harry wondered, vaguely, what it must have been like for Remus and his father – and even Snape – to have been at school during Voldemort's reign of terror. Had the headmaster been frequently away, even during the school year? Had he been called on for more important tasks outside the castle walls? What was it like – to have grown up when the wizarding world was at war?

Harry couldn't imagine it. Except for the few months last year when Dumbledore had been temporarily relieved of his post, there had scarcely been a day when Harry did not see the headmaster presiding over the Great Hall in the evening. His presence was protection, strength and guidance. Without him… Hogwarts would not _be_ Hogwarts.

Harry's musings were interrupted as a pale hand slapped a stack of parchment down in front of him. He started at the noise and followed the hand upward – to Snape's smirking face.

'Daydreaming, Potter?' the Potions master mocked.

'Er – no sir, sorry,' Harry mumbled, reddening slightly.

Snape snorted. 'Your Potions examination,' Snape stated, gesturing at the pile of parchment he'd set in front of Harry. Harry leaned over it with some trepidation. There was a _lot_ of scarlet ink, but nothing was marked as wholly incorrect… not on the first page, at least. In the top right hand corner, there was a large letter 'E.'

'What – is that the mark, sir?' Harry asked in horror, pointing at the E.

Snape raised an eyebrow. 'Obviously,' he stated dryly.

'Er… so I didn't do well then, sir?' he clarified, crushed. He'd always known that Snape would set a difficult exam… but he couldn't believe he'd failed so badly.

Snape's brow arched even higher. 'What are you on about, Potter?' he asked irritably. 'You did… quite well, actually. Nowhere near perfect, mind you, but well enough that I believe we can continue with our arrangement for the summer schedule.'

Harry was confused. 'But – but I got an E,' he said dumbly. Snape stared back for a moment, then rolled his eyes impatiently.

'Wizarding marks do not match up to the Muggle scheme, you foolish child!' he snapped.

Harry felt indignant now. 'Well, how am I supposed to know that? All our exams and homework and everything have always been given a percentage score here, haven't they? I've never received a letter before!'

Snape sighed, pinching the bridge of his hooked nose between his thumb and forefinger. Harry rather thought it appeared he was giving the Potions master a migraine. After a moment, Snape seemed to collect himself again, and let his hand drop with a martyred expression of resignation. 'First through fourth forms at Hogwarts,' he explained, 'Are normally given percentage scores on examinations, quizzes, and other marked assignments. This scheme is changed in your fifth year, when you sit your O.W.L. examinations.'

'Ordinary Wizarding Levels?' Harry clarified. Snape's eyes flashed at the interruption. 'Sorry, sir,' Harry backtracked quickly.

'Yes,' Snape said stiffly. 'Ordinary Wizarding Level examinations are evaluated on a six-letter scale. O for Outstanding, E for Exceeds Expectations, A for Acceptable, P for Poor, D for Dreadful, and T for Troll.'

Harry held in his giggle at the last – there was no point in testing Snape's temper further when the latter was so uncharacteristically in a mood to share tonight.

'Your teachers will begin to evaluate your performance using the O.W.L. marks at the start of your fifth year,' Snape continued. 'However, I personally find the six-letter scheme a better indicator of student competence. And so, because this is not a regularly conducted examination… I chose to employ it here.'

'So… so I "exceeded expectations," sir?' Harry asked.

'That is not particularly hard to do when my expectations are that you will destroy the classroom,' Snape replied, sarcastically. He rolled his eyes as Harry's face fell. 'Yes, Potter, you earned an E. Which is not an easy feat, under my critique.'

Harry brightened at once. 'Brilliant!' he exclaimed. 'So, does that mean we can work on wandless magic then, sir?'

'It does,' Snape agreed in a bored tone. Harry noticed that his eyes grew cold and hard once more, as Remus came through the doors with Professor McGonagall.

'Good evening, Severus,' Remus said happily. He made for the chair to Harry's immediate right. Snape, giving Remus a murderous glare, did not return the greeting but glided more smoothly than a Dementor around the table to choose a seat as far as possible from his former classmate. Harry looked between them curiously, but neither offered any explanation. McGonagall seated herself in her usual chair, brushing a hand over Harry's untidy black hair as she made her way down the table. She clapped her hands over the wood, and dinner popped up at once.

'Aren't we waiting for the headmaster, ma'am?' Harry asked in confusion, looking toward the door in hopes that Dumbledore would soon sweep through.

'I'm afraid not, Harry,' said McGonagall, giving him a sad little smile. 'He's been delayed at the Ministry this evening, and I don't expect him back until quite late. Madam Pomfrey has set off on a few weeks of holiday and Hagrid is working on a project, so it is just us for the night.'

'Oh,' Harry said, a bit despondently. He turned for his roast chicken without much enthusiasm.

The little party ate without much conversation. Harry was tired from the long day, and even more so when he considered that he already had reading for Remus _and_ revision for Snape due Monday next. He'd have skipped out on dinner entirely, but he knew if he did Remus would hover and McGonagall would have kittens. More than anything, he just wished Dumbledore was around.

At last, the meal had finished. McGonagall announced she was retiring early, to finish some paperwork up in the office, and Harry jumped at the chance to sneak away with her. Remus, who did not seem overly keen to remain alone with Snape, hopped up as well, mumbling something about heading back to the library and leaving the hall ahead of Harry and McGonagall.

'Don't forget to take that,' Snape barked at him as Harry pushed to his feet, nodding toward the inked-up exam papers that Harry had moved aside to eat. Snape appeared quite at his leisure despite his solitary place at the table, pouring himself another goblet of deep red wine and leaning back more comfortably into his chair.

'Yes, sir,' said Harry quickly. He gathered up the parchment and tucked the lot into his bag, next to the book Remus had lent him.

'Oh, and Potter?' Snape called, just as Harry reached the door. Harry turned back. Snape wore a somewhat evil smirk.

'You may have exceeded expectations today, but you will find that only _outstanding_ is a satisfactory passing mark in my subject. I do not accept N.E.W.T. students who do not earn an O on their O.W.L., and the headmaster would prefer that _you_ continue on with Potions at the advanced level. If you wish to have any prayer of doing so, you will have to continue your Potions instruction.'

Harry's jaw dropped. 'You mean I have to do summer lessons in Potions too?' he asked in horror. 'I thought you were going to do the wandless magic lessons _instead_?'

Snape sneered more widely. 'I assure you, I do not relish the thought. You shall be prepared for Potions on Mondays and Wednesdays, wandless instruction on Tuesdays and Thursdays. As a preliminary assignment, you can revise the corrections on your examination.'

Harry glanced up at McGonagall, who had stopped alongside him at the door, half-certain she _must_ move to end this madness. But though the Gryffindor head was pursing her lips in apparent disapproval, she did not contradict Snape.

'Right, sir,' said Harry, defeated.

Snape inclined his head. 'Until Monday then, Potter. Nine a.m. sharp.'


	7. The Lady of the Lake

**A/N:** Chapter Seven! I hope you all enjoy it. One word to note – I followed JKR's timeline with Merlin's story… which puts it many centuries later than traditional British legend. This is to accommodate the HP universe, so please keep it in mind while you read. A few review responses below as usual. Thank you all for your support and comments, I really appreciate all the reviews! Finally – bonus points to anyone who can spot the significance of the forest described in this chapter.

 **Mizuraikage** : Thank you for your review! I do tend to agree with you that Harry is often 'babied' by some of the adults here… part of that is that I wanted to explore his true age – he is only 12, going on 13, which is an awkward and interesting age in childhood, I think, because you are just on the cusp between child and teenager. Sometimes and in some ways, Harry is old for his age, partly because of his personality and partly due to his upbringing and circumstance. In other ways, he is a little young… and certainly he doesn't really understand people looking after him in the same sense that Ron or Hermione might. And he pushes back on the coddling – in part because he's uncomfortable with it generally and in part because he feels too old for it. Albus and Minerva, of course, have never had children of their own, so they're a little in the dark there as well. So everyone's navigating unknown waters here. Yet we definitely see the over-protectiveness in other characters as well in canon (read: Molly Weasley, in particular, but also Minerva a bit, esp. at the start of Hogwarts Year 3, e.g.). I think Albus in particular is trying to find some sort of balance between allowing Harry a childhood and looking after him as he grows, and preparing him for his very dangerous future. I see the books as sort of portioned out… in 1 and 2, Harry is more of a child/preteen; in 3 and 4, he's in adolescence and the strings of innocence are slowly falling – or abruptly torn – away; in 5, he's very much in teenage years (and all the angst that comes with it, general and personal); in 6, he's really coming of age; and in 7, he's essentially an adult – perhaps too early. We're transitioning in COH Part II… and a huge part of the story will be the maturing of his character (and the responses of those around him to that maturation), as well as the beginnings of disillusionment. Anyway… that's a _super_ long explanation (apologies), but I hope that helps explain my direction behind some of this.

 **Babascoop** : Thank you again for your review! Don't worry – Remus _will_ explain how to cast the Patronus directly… I have a few other reasons for including Nimue's book – one of which is that I wanted a segue for some of Dumbledore's lessons, and the history of Merlin/Nimue/Azkaban/Dementors/Patronus is quite intertwined. Much of what is revealed in this chapter and later on in this book will be important in future. Also, though Harry won't get to the contents of the book itself here, I think we will see that it is not _quite_ a how-to sort of instruction. Dementors themselves, after all, are not thought to have been in Britain at the time that Nimue and Merlin were around (at least in my timeline). I hope you like the way everything unfolds!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 7: The Lady of the Lake**

'Look, Mummy!' the little girl shouted, laughing as she bounded after the dog up the village street. 'It's a puppy!'

'Come away from it, Anna darling!' the girl's mother scolded, running after her. 'It's probably loaded with fleas!'

Sirius growled in annoyance as the woman finally caught up to her wayward daughter, gripping her tightly by the wrist. The woman looked even more apprehensive as she tugged the girl sharply backward toward the pavement.

'Mummm!' the girl complained, struggling in the woman's firm grip and spitting blonde curls out of her mouth as she tried in vain to make her way back toward Sirius. 'I want to play with her!'

'Absolutely not!' the mother said firmly. 'Didn't you hear it growl? It might be rabid – I don't see a licence.'

The little girl started to cry. With a put upon sigh, her mother lifted her gently off the pavement. 'Come now, love,' she soothed. 'Let's get on home. The weather is starting to turn already.'

Sirius watched the two hurry away, thinking over the woman's words. She was quite right – the balmy summer's evening was quickly fading to cool… no, not cool, unseasonable chill. He recognised the sensation.

Dementors.

Casting a wary look around, Sirius backed off the pavement and into a dingy alley between two shops. He slunk off the main road and hurried out of the village toward the open moor. He was very near Upper Flagley, and he knew the Dementors were more likely to search for him close to wizarding villages. This was the second time since he'd crossed into Yorkshire last night that he'd been able to sense their approach. He supposed it wasn't all that surprising – he'd been on the run for a week now, and they were looking for him everywhere. This morning, he'd even caught a glimpse of his own face plastered across a Muggle newspaper. He needed to be more careful.

Travelling as Padfoot gave him some protection from wizarding eyes as well as the Dementors' hunt, but it still wouldn't do to get too near the creatures. Sirius knew his strength would fail him if they swarmed.

So he headed for the heather, hoping to find an outcropping or cave for a short lie-down. He'd been lucky today – he'd hitched a ride on the back of a lorry for nearly sixty miles of his northward journey… but there was still so far to go. And Harry was already there. It was Friday now, if Sirius' calculation was correct. So Harry had been there five whole days. With _Snivellus_. His godson, who Sirius had not seen in almost twelve years.

Twelve years…. Harry was so much older now. No longer the happy, bubbly baby that Sirius remembered. He knew, of course, that Harry would be nearly thirteen now. Mentally, he'd known that. But somehow he hadn't expected it regardless.

Sirius had known his godson at once. It was like stepping back through time, seeing him on that garden wall. He looked, in so many ways, the miniature copy of James: lean build, glasses and black hair that stuck up in the back exactly the same way. Harry even held his wand at exactly the same angle. He was perhaps a bit thinner and smaller than Sirius remembered James being at that age, though of course Lily had been rather petite. Those eyes… the emerald colour and the shape were all Lily, even behind James' lenses. But there wasn't much else of his mother in Harry's face – at least not in what Sirius was able to garner from his brief glimpse.

He wondered what Harry was like… what he enjoyed, what he hated. As a baby, Harry had been full of laughter, love and a keen inquisitiveness. He'd been always underfoot, getting into everything that Lily and James had not nailed down. He'd liked toffee ice cream and warm goat's milk; James' horridly out of tune lullabies and Sirius' games of hover the babe that had made Lily hex him out the door more than once. They'd been a motley family – Harry, Sirius, James, Lily, Remus… even the rat, for a time – but a happy one. Before that Hallowe'en. Before everything dissolved into treachery and darkness and blown-apart nurseries.

What was he like now? Was he quidditch-obsessed, like James had been? Did he fly as well as his father? Did he play gobstones as well as Lily? Did he like to read? Did he like his tea with sugar and lemon, or milk? Did he sneak out of the castle and roam the grounds with his friends for a laugh? Did he drive McGonagall to grey? Was he even _in_ Gryffindor?

Did Remus fill Sirius' role in Harry's life? Did _Snivellus_? What part did Dumbledore play in all this? And the Dursleys?

Did Harry even know that Sirius existed? Had they all painted Sirius the traitor – taught Harry to hate and fear him? Or had he been vanished like a disgraceful secret: cast off and buried in the folds of the past so that Harry would never need to be told?

He thought of the little baby that had struggled in Hagrid's arms – reaching out to him as Sirius battled with grief and anger. The baby that Sirius had allowed Hagrid to take… the baby he'd abandoned for his ill-fated revenge.

That baby was gone. He'd grown; he'd changed; he'd forgotten. The baby had known Padfoot – in whichever form he'd been. He'd have run for him; thrown his arms around his neck and buried his little face in black fur.

The boy on Magnolia Crescent had not. To the Boy, Sirius was nothing but a stranger – unfamiliar and possibly dangerous.

After nearly two hours of trudging through the deserted moors, Sirius caught a scent that gave him pause. Fox, he thought it was, though he was a bit out of practice. He followed the trail of the animal's scent through the underbrush, until at last he came upon the creature's den. The burrow had been dug out at the base of a great oak tree, the opening just wide enough for Sirius to slip through, though the brambles around the edges caught at his overlong fur. He was cautious as he slid into the den – but there were neither pups nor vixen inside the little space.

The fox, he figured, could find somewhere else for tonight. And, even emaciated, he'd be twice its size, if the animal wanted to fight him for the space.

Exhausted and drained, Sirius curled himself in for the night, wondering what Harry was doing now.

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Harry was screaming.

Albus woke with a jolt, instantly alert. Beside him, Minerva was already climbing out of the great bed, throwing a dressing gown over her shoulders as she illuminated the end of her wand. Albus hurried to follow her lead. It had been the same last night.

The pair of them raced down the corridor to Harry's room, flinging the door ajar. Harry was tossing fitfully beneath the covers, apparently still in the clutches of dreams. He thrashed violently even as Albus made to shake him awake.

'Harry!' Albus called, grasping his shoulder firmly. 'Harry, my boy, wake up!'

It took him several minutes, but at last Harry's eyes popped open. His breathing was hitched and laboured as he stared wildly around, reality slowly settling upon him.

'Wh – sorry, professor,' he said in embarrassment as he began to grasp what had happened.

'Are you alright?' Albus asked, ignoring the apology.

'I – er – yeah,' Harry said, sitting up a little straighter against the pillows. 'I mean… I'm fine sir, thanks. Just another nightmare. I'm sorry I woke you again. Both of you,' he added, turning to see Minerva on the opposite side of the bed.

'It is no matter,' Minerva said, brushing his arm with a soft hand. Albus released his grip on Harry's shoulder, summoning a small glass of water and offering it out. The boy took it gratefully, gulping at the cool drink while his breathing slowly returned to normal.

'Perhaps,' Albus began, when Harry had finished the drink and set the empty glass aside. 'We should consider returning to Occlumency. Forgive me – I did not realise that these dreams were still plaguing you so badly. I should not have let the lessons lapse.'

'It's not that,' said Harry quickly. 'I mean, I'm still practising the Occlumency. And it works, usually. It's just ever since the Dementors –'

He trailed off, while Minerva gave a huff of clear disapproval.

'You have found it difficult to set aside your experience with them?' Albus guessed. Harry looked awkward.

'It's just… it was terrible, what they made me hear,' he said quietly. 'I can't seem to block it out when I try and do the exercises before bed.'

Albus sighed. 'Our worst thoughts are often the most difficult to quiet,' he opined. 'One of the reasons Occlumency is such a difficult magical art to master. It is a shame really, that those things which give us great joy and comfort fade most quickly from our memories, while that which we fear or dread preoccupies the greatest space in our minds.'

'How do I make it stop, sir?' asked Harry desperately. Albus looked deeply into the green eyes, wishing he could return a different answer.

'I do not have the power to do that, Harry,' he said sadly. 'Occlumency, and other tools, can help us reorganise our minds, but no magic, save a very powerful memory charm, can permanently alter our thoughts. Nor would I want that for you, were it even possible. These experiences and emotions shape us into who we are – remind us of what is important, and make us better for their presence. We each of us have different burdens to bear, and we must learn how to cope with them.'

Harry sighed. 'Right,' he said despondently.

Albus cupped his cheek tenderly. 'I will do everything I can to make yours easier, Harry, I promise,' he said firmly. 'And we will find a way to calm these nightmares, even if we have to spend every evening in Occlumency.'

Harry still looked miserable, but he nodded.

'We should all get back to sleep,' Minerva observed. 'It's the middle of the night. Do you want a bit of potion, Harry?' she asked him, pushing to her feet again.

Harry shook his head. 'No, I – that's alright,' he said, looking between Minerva and Albus. Albus did not need Legilimency to read the plea in his expression.

'I shall stay a few more minutes,' he decided, giving Harry a reassuring smile. 'Perhaps some conversation will tire you more quickly.'

Harry smiled back a little, and Albus indicated that he should scoot down into the covers. He gave Minerva a glance over Harry's head, and she ducked quietly into the corridor.

'I hear you performed well on your Potions examination,' Albus observed, pulling an armchair over alongside the bed.

Harry smiled wider. 'Yeah, I can't believe it,' he said. 'Though Snape says we're still going to be doing Potions over the summer. He set me to revise the exam for Monday already,' he added, a bit petulantly.

Albus chuckled. 'Professor Snape, Harry,' he reminded him gently. 'And try not to be so worried. Potions is an important part of your education – and I hear you will be learning wandless magic from Severus as well. That should be something a bit more exciting for you.'

Harry brightened at once. 'Yeah, I am looking forward to that!' he said enthusiastically. 'And lessons with Remus – he said he'd try and help me with the Dementors.'

'Did he?' Albus asked keenly. 'That is very advanced magic,' he warned delicately.

'I know, Remus said,' Harry admitted. 'But I told him I wanted to try anyway. He's given me a book with a chapter on Patronus charms to start me off.'

'What book was that?'

Harry leaned over the side of the bed, pulling a small and ancient-looking book from under his marked-up Potions examination. He held it out for the headmaster.

' _Protection in the Face of Darkness_ ,' he read out off the cover. 'A particularly interesting choice. I am impressed. Remus will be a fine teacher if he obliges us in taking the post.'

'Yeah, he would be,' Harry agreed. 'I've learned loads from him this summer already. But sir, I wanted to ask you… the author of this book, Nimue Lacus? Remus said she'd been married to Merlin, but he didn't tell me anything else. He said you might tell me the story, if I asked. He said you were going to be teaching me different kinds of magic this summer.'

'And so I shall,' Albus agreed, setting the little book in his lap. 'I was going to talk to you about it sooner, but I'm afraid this business with Sirius Black has kept me out of the castle far more than I would have liked.'

'It's alright, sir,' Harry said quickly. 'I know you're really busy.' His tone was light, but Albus could see vulnerability beneath the words. He laid a light hand on the boy's arm.

'Believe me, Harry,' he said, 'I would rather have been here with you than anywhere else.'

Harry smiled a little sheepishly. 'Thanks, sir,' he said.

'Now then,' Albus said, tapping Harry's arm a bit as he straightened up in the chair. 'This book,' he gestured to the volume in his lap, 'And its author provide a wonderful segue into the discussion of what I wish to teach you this summer, and in the years to come. I would like, in essence, to provide you with a richer education than what you might normally glean as a student here. We will dabble in spellwork and the mind arts, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, perhaps even older forms of magic. And we will discuss some of wizarding history. Not what you may learn from Professor Binns,' he added with a twinkle, catching the gloomy look that crossed Harry's face at the announcement. 'No, I think I will leave the finer points of goblin rebellions and giant wars in his more practised hands… I daresay I was a rather inattentive student in some of those lectures myself.' He laughed as Harry grinned back at him. 'What I would like to discuss with you, Harry, are the histories of Magic itself – the evolution of spellwork and mastery, and the figures that shaped Magic as we know it. We will explore together the blurred lines between good and evil, light and darkness; fate and destiny.'

'Er –' said Harry, looking overwhelmed. 'That sounds great, sir,' he said at last. Albus smiled.

'It is a lot to take in,' he acknowledged. 'But, I think, things shall become clearer in time. Now, I believe you had asked me about this book?' he redirected, holding the tome up again.

'Yes, sir,' Harry nodded. 'I wondered what Remus was talking about. I think I've heard of Nimue before – years ago, in Muggle school. But I didn't know she was Merlin's wife. I thought she trapped him in a grave or something?'

'A common misconception,' Albus acknowledged, 'In the Muggle world, at least. But even among wizards, Nimue's story has been long obscured by rumour, jealousy, and of course, time.'

'So what is her story then, professor?' Harry asked.

Albus twinkled down at him. 'It is rather long for one night, Harry,' he said. 'But I shall start it for you, if you try to sleep. I promise I shall not take offence if you drift off during the telling.' He waited for Harry to nod in assent, and began the tale.

'Nimue is, perhaps, one of the most mysterious and misunderstood figures of our history. She was a gifted witch – a relation, in fact, of our Rowena Ravenclaw, and by all accounts just as clever. She was not educated at Hogwarts, however, despite her relation to the founder.'

'Why not?' Harry asked, confused. 'I thought all wizards come to school here. There aren't any others, are there?'

Albus smiled. 'There are many schools of magic, Harry,' he said kindly. 'Eleven large institutions around the world, three in Europe alone, and many smaller schools that are not so widely attended. Hogwarts is the only magical school in Britain, that much is true. We generally extend invitations to attend to all magical children born in England, Scotland, Ireland, Northern Ireland, and Wales. But not every witch or wizard is educated here – some children are tutored at home, and others still are sent abroad. The Ministry does not require attendance at Hogwarts, though many professions still require that students complete their examinations at O.W.L. or N.E.W.T. levels, or the foreign equivalent.'

'Oh,' said Harry, still looking surprised. 'I guess I should have realised… I've just never really thought about it before now.' Albus merely continued to smile at him.

'It is understandable that you would not know this, of course,' he said reassuringly. 'We do not interact nearly as often as we should with wizards from other cultures. And there are admittedly very few British and Irish wizards who are not students here in their youth.' He cleared his throat a little. 'In any case,' Dumbledore continued, 'Nimue lived many centuries ago, when Hogwarts herself was in her infancy. At that time, attendance at the school was not nearly so uniform, nor was the study of magic generally. Not much is known of Nimue's early childhood, but we know she was born in the westernmost part of what today is Gloucester county, in a forest along the Welsh border, around 1010. She was born into a group of very ancient, very powerful Druids, who had migrated south from Scotland in the centuries when Druid nomadic populations were common around Britannia.'

'What are Druids?' Harry asked.

'The druids were clans, for lack of a better description, of highly skilled individuals. They were a learned and priestly class of people – even among Muggles. Indeed, not all druids were in fact wizards and witches; for theirs was a time when magic still intermingled with the Muggle world. Some druids were bards, magistrates, scholars, scientists, teachers, priests. Druids with magical blood were among the most accomplished in their clans, and are closely associated with advancements in many fields of magic, especially in Healing, Potions and Wandlore. Ollivander, in fact, is a descendant of an ancient druid line, through whom many secrets of wandmaking have been passed down and honed. In Celtic times, the druids were the most prominent members of magical society. Their numbers and influence dwindled with the passage of time and the growth of hostilities between Muggle and wizard, and by the end of the middle ages there were very few true druids remaining. Nowadays, though many can claim druid heritage, especially in Scotland and Ireland, the druid way of life is no longer in existence.'

'But Nimue was one?' Harry clarified.

'She was,' Albus agreed. 'Druid magic was closely tied with nature, you see, as all the oldest forms of magic are. It is one of the reasons very few druid children attended Hogwarts in the early years. Druid society advocated teaching children in the ancient ways in the forest, where they could connect with nature and learn from it. Nimue's parentage is uncertain – at that time, many clans raised their children together. The clan itself was considered family. The stories claim that her mother was the chief priestess of her druid clan, but that could be naught but fabrication and embellishment. Many druid clans worked too collectively to denote a leader in such a way.'

'How did she meet up with Merlin, then, if she didn't go to Hogwarts?'

'Much legend has sprung up about the meeting of Merlin and Nimue, and even more about their later relationship. What seems certain enough is that Merlin was fairly young, in wizarding terms, when he first met his future wife. Merlin's own backstory is a tale for another time… but it is enough for tonight to tell you that after Hogwarts he travelled extensively to expand his knowledge. As you know, Merlin was a most gifted sorcerer. He made innumerable contributions to magical learning, particularly in Charms. He was also an early champion of Muggle rights, and believed that wizards and witches should use their magic to better mankind as a whole, including Muggles. He advocated peaceful relations between Muggles and wizards, and devoted his life to the cause.

'Merlin came upon the wood where Nimue lived around ten years or so after he left the school. He sought the guidance of her clan on some research he was doing. Merlin was not of druid descent, and thus little trusted by many of the witches and wizards there, who guarded their magical secrets most jealously at the time. That is, until he met Nimue.

'Legend tells us that he first laid eyes on her at the edge of a small forest pool. The pool was referred to as the Mirror Pool among the druids, for it was said that the water would give a drinker the ability to see their own true nature. Merlin approached and conjured a goblet to drink. When he lifted his head and the full goblet, Nimue was sitting upon a rock at the water's edge.'

Harry smiled. 'And so they lived happily ever after?' he said teasingly.

Albus chuckled. 'Not quite,' he replied. 'Nimue was but fifteen, but already learned beyond her years. She admonished Merlin for his choice to drink the water. She told him that true understanding of our gifts and flaws must come from within, and that is it a most wonderful and terrible gift, granted to very few. The journey to self-discovery was incredibly difficult, she explained, but taking the water was merely the easy way out. "Until you can truly understand the choice between what is right and what is easy," she said, "you are not worthy of the knowledge." She turned to go. Merlin, already struck by her beauty and wisdom, flung the undrunk goblet to the forest floor and hurried to stop her. And he asked her right then to marry him.'

'And she agreed?' Harry asked, dumbstruck.

'No,' Albus said with a small smile. 'Not at first, anyway. Merlin remained with the druid clan for the better part of three years. And then a prophecy was made.'

'A prophecy? Who made it?'

'Merlin,' Albus clarified. 'Among his many gifts, Merlin had the Sight. Unlike many Seers, he also had the rare gift of recalling his visions perfectly. In most cases, a prophecy goes unknown unless it is overheard, for a Seer does not usually remember his or her trance. The prophecy, in any case, foretold an end to the Muggle war that had raged in Britain for a hundred years. It spoke of a young boy, Arthur, born in secret and raised in squalor, but who was truly the rightful King. "Wisdom of wizard will guide his path and steady his crown," the prophecy said, "But only hand of the Witch across the water can give him the deadly weapon of conquest."'

He paused in his story, giving Harry a once-over. His eyes were drooping a bit now.

'Perhaps we should call it there for tonight,' he said quietly. 'It is quite late, and you should sleep.'

'No!' Harry protested, dragging his eyes fully open again. 'I want to hear what happened.'

Albus sighed. 'The abbreviated version, then,' he bargained. 'I shall skip the events in the middle for now.' Harry nodded, and Albus cleared his throat to continue. 'The prophecy was the catalyst for Merlin's departure. He was certain that he was the wizard meant, and he resolved to set off at once to find the boy. Nimue agreed to go with him. They married in the wood, and left with the druids' blessing in search of the prophesised King. As I am sure you have guessed, their quest led them to Arthur, who was being raised by a farmer and his wife in a small town in the north of England. Merlin and Nimue spent nearly a decade with him, training him as he grew and advising him. With their guidance, Arthur forged a trusted group of advisors – commonly called the Knights of the Round Table, and began to call an army. They left the farm and began their adventures – and their conquest – across Britain.

'But the war was hard, and many were lost. Merlin's thoughts were drawn back to the prophecy. He remembered the second part – that only the hand of the witch across the water could give Arthur what he needed to actually take the kingdom. And he was troubled, for he began to fear that the Witch it referred to was his sister.'

'His _sister_?' Harry asked in surprise. 'Merlin had a sister?'

'No,' Albus clarified. ' _Arthur_ had a sister. A half-sister, to be precise: Morgan le Fay – who we more often refer to nowadays as Morgana.'

'I've heard of her!' said Harry in surprise. 'Ron talked about her back in our first year. He said she was on a chocolate frog card… so Arthur was a wizard?'

'No,' said Albus. 'Arthur was a Muggle, born to two Muggle parents. But his half-sister was born of his mother's first marriage, to a wizard. She was ten years or so his senior, and a witch, raised by her father from birth and educated at Hogwarts. Arthur did not meet her – or even know of her – for many years. Morgana was a prodigious witch, and very interested in the dark arts. She had left the British mainland after Hogwarts, and came to rule over a small island in the North Sea.'

'Azkaban?' asked Harry, horrified.

'Very good, Harry,' said Albus with a twinkling smile. 'Although there is no conclusive proof, many scholars have speculated that Morgana's realm was indeed what today is the home of Azkaban prison. In legend, it is referred to only as Avalon – an offshore kingdom where Morgana reigned as queen. Merlin had heard of her prowess, and knew of her relation to Arthur. Many years before, he had refused her entreaty to apprentice to him. He knew also that she was jealous and vicious, and feared what she may do if she chose to involve herself in the mainland battle. Merlin and Nimue had been with Arthur for so many years, that both often saw him as aa surrogate son. At the same time, however, Arthur's forces were beginning to lose the war. On Arthur's eighteenth birthday, Merlin felt he could delay no longer.

'Merlin came to Nimue in the middle of the night, after the men had gone to bed. He was nearly mad with worry, but resolved in a scheme to see the prophecy through. He told Nimue that Morgana was the witch across the water, and also that he feared Morgana would not come to her brother's aide if Merlin remained at his side, for she would remain bitter and resentful. He did not trust himself to keep stoic and uninvolved if Morgana arrived. So he devised a way of removing himself from the equation – an enchantment that would trap him in another form until such time as the witch across the water had fulfilled her portion of the prophecy.

'Nimue tried to argue with Merlin, but she could not change his mind. "When the moment arrives, my love," Merlin told her, "You will find me at the place where first our stars aligned." And he left, vanishing into the night.'

'He left her?' asked Harry, incredulous. 'He left Nimue? And _Arthur_? But – but Arthur needed him too! He was only eighteen, you said… how was he supposed to conquer a kingdom _and_ face his mad half-sister without Merlin?'

'I do not think that Merlin intended to leave forever,' Albus clarified. 'And I do not think it was an easy decision. All accounts are that Merlin was tortured by the thought for months before his departure. But, in the end, he was certain that he _must_ leave, in order for Arthur to fulfil his destiny.'

Harry did not look convinced, but Albus continued anyway. 'Nimue, devastated, tried to go after her husband. But he had disappeared. In the morning, she told Arthur that Merlin had been called away indefinitely. She could not tell him the reason – for they had made a pact many years ago not to tell the truth of the prophecy's contents to anyone, lest they meddle with the hands of fate. Nevertheless, many of Arthur's men began to whisper. They believed that Nimue had somehow caused her husband's disappearance – that she was tempted to usurp his position in Arthur's regard, or otherwise jealous of Merlin's magical skill. Nimue bore the muttering with grace, and waited for Morgana to bring about her husband's return.

'Weeks came and went, and then a year, and then three… but Merlin did not return as he'd promised, for Morgana never came to her brother's aide. In contrast, rumour began to spread that Morgana sought Arthur's destruction, and was building an army in Avalon. Nimue began to despair, and she grew too ill with heartbreak to ride on with the men. Arthur took pity on her plight. He urged her to break with the march, and to rest. Remembering Merlin's parting words, Nimue took the future king's advice and fled to the land from whence she came, to the wood in which she'd first met her husband.

'She returned to the mirror pool, only to find it deserted and barren – the druids had long fled the area, driven out by the warring men. Nimue knew not where her family had gone. The forest was as abandoned as she felt, and dying in neglect. For the magic of the druids is a natural magic – a symbiotic relationship – and without the clan to support the magic of the forest, it soon fades entirely.

'So Nimue found the mirror pool and she fell to her knees, for there was no magic to help her here, and no family to comfort her, and Merlin was not there. But as she laid her head upon the rock where she had first watched Merlin draw the goblet from the pool, her eyes fell upon a great oak tree, set against the edge of the forest. It was a tall, sturdy oak of might and majesty – an old and gorgeous tree that Nimue – who knew this forest more intimately than any alive – could not recall ever existing before. In wonderment, she arose from her place on the ground and approached the oak tree, running her hands along its trunk. In the gnarled wood, she could feel the pulse of magic. Familiar magic: Merlin's magic. And in a flash of realisation, she knew that Merlin had been wrong in his interpretation of the prophecy's meaning.

'So Nimue set to work. She bartered with the King of the Goblins to fashion a beautiful and powerful sword – a gleaming silver weapon imbued with dragon fire and blooded with unicorn foal. A great and terrible instrument forged for a conqueror, to wage and end all wars. And then she sat by the mirror pool, and waited.

'Still, Merlin did not return, of course. And Arthur did not come. And Nimue wept. Legend is that she wept so much, and for so many years, that the little forest pool swelled with the weight of her tears, overflowing and expanding until the pool had become a bog, the bog had become a pond, and finally the pond became a lake.

'At long last, the boy Arthur now come into manhood came upon the forest after many years of searching. He rode on a handsome grey horse, with only twelve knights for company. The men rode in search of Merlin, still seeking his guidance and assistance to unite the tattered kingdom, for their armies had been devastated in the fighting and they had begun to despair. The villagers Arthur spoke to along the way did not know of Merlin, but all talked of the weeping woman in the forest; the Lady of the Lake. Curious, Arthur made for the forest instead. When at last he came upon the lake, the winds were quite silent.

'"Is there a mistress of this place?" Arthur called, standing with his men at the edge of the lake. "I am Arthur, First of his Name, come to look upon the one they call the Lady of the Lake."

'And from the centre of the shallow lake, through the mists, walked Nimue, across the surface of the water itself. She did not weep but smiled, so glad she was to see the task fulfilled at last. And Arthur smiled too, for he did not think to ever look upon the face of this woman again. Nimue held before her the sword she had created – for the weapon was her gift to Arthur.

'"I have waited for this moment many years, young Arthur," she said as she stepped from the water. She held the sword out to him. "And now, at last, the time has come. With this sword, you shall be King."

'So Arthur took the sword as his own, lifting it high in salute to Nimue. "What shall I call it?" he asked.

'"It is called Excalibur, my son," Nimue replied, "For it will cleave a hard divide between the devastation of the past and the bright hope of the future."

'"Excalibur," Arthur repeated, "The sword of destiny." And as he said the words, a great crash rent the air. The mighty oak tree splintered and fell, releasing its prisoner to the forest floor. Merlin was freed of his bonds – for the witch across the water had fulfilled her duty, and Arthur would be King.'

'So he did it to himself?' asked Harry, stifling a yawn as Albus finished the tale. Albus chuckled.

'We do most punishments upon ourselves,' the headmaster offered enigmatically. 'But… yes, I suppose he did.'

'Well, I'm glad _she_ didn't imprison him,' Harry muttered.

'Perhaps,' said Albus. 'Although, I think you will find as you grow that love itself is often the greatest form of imprisonment – for it entraps us more firmly than anything else can do. Merlin put himself into the tree, that much is true. But he did it out of love, and _for_ love. Even the best of us cannot often help our actions when it comes to those we love. It both clarifies and clouds our judgment.'

'But – what has that got to do with the p-pa-patronus?' Harry asked, around another wide yawn.

Albus smiled down at him. 'A great deal,' he promised. 'But that, I'm afraid, is a story that will have to wait for now. We should both be getting back to bed.'

And with that, he doused the candle on the night table as Harry finally shut his eyes.

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'Why are you telling him of the trials of Merlin?' Severus asked from the shadows in the corridor as Albus shut the door to the child's room.

The headmaster actually jumped in surprise, whirling to face the Potions master with his wand half-drawn. Severus raised an eyebrow.

'Good gracious, Severus!' Albus breathed, shooting a silent muffling charm at the room where Potter now slept. 'You gave me a fright. What on earth are you doing up here in the middle of the night? Has something happened?'

Severus drew a small phial of potion from the folds of his robes, dangling it between two long fingers in explanation. 'Minerva sent word that you might be in need of dreamless sleep,' he clarified. 'Apparently, your stores were empty.'

The headmaster took the phial with a small nod, pocketing it. 'Thank you,' he said. 'I had not realised we were out, though I think it will not be necessary tonight. I am sorry Minerva woke you for it.'

Severus shrugged. 'I was not asleep,' he said carelessly. Albus' own eyebrows raised.

'It was past two when Harry woke,' he observed. 'Perhaps you ought to consider taking some yourself, Severus, if you are having trouble finding peace to sleep.'

Severus scoffed. 'I was merely working on a new project,' he said with a sneer. This, of course, was not true. He had spent the better part of the night tossing restlessly on his bed, stuck with his own churning thoughts of a past that refused to stay so.

He did not think that Albus was fooled, but the old man merely nodded in a weary sort of way.

'I must confess, I myself am exhausted,' the headmaster admitted. 'I think I shall return to bed… unless there was something else you wished to discuss, Severus?' he added, giving the Potions master a characteristic x-ray examination.

Severus shook his head. 'No, headmaster,' he said. 'I merely wished to ensure that you received the potion.'

'Very well,' Albus replied. 'Then I will bid you goodnight, Severus.'

'Good night, Albus,' Severus returned with a bow of his head. He watched the headmaster remove the charm from the boy's door, and walk slowly down the corridor to his own chambers.

It did not escape him that Dumbledore had not answered his question.


	8. The Only Thing We Have to Fear

**A/N:** Chapter Eight! I hope everyone enjoys. And… you get double chapters today, because I wrote this and then re-wrote it with an additional scene… and decided that 14,000 was WAY too long for just one chapter, so I broke it into two. I thought about sitting on the second instalment and releasing it in a few days to give myself some buffer time… but I just couldn't be that cruel. Reviewer responses below to those who asked questions – and a huge thank you to all who read and reviewed Chapter 7!

 **Mad4Harry:** Couldn't tell if you recognised the description? If so – definitely leave your guess(es) in the comments! As for whether or not Snape will bring it up to Harry… I decline to answer at the moment, but you will see. Thank you for the great review! I'm glad you are enjoying the story :)

 **Alicia Olivia Mirza:** Thank you for the wonderful review! I'm glad you're liking the Dumbledore characterisation so far, and the story. You're definitely correct in some of the reasoning behind Dumbledore's interest in relating this story, and in the old magic / light and dark portion of his teachings… I hope you enjoy how things unfold from here.

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 8: The Only Thing We Have to Fear**

Harry spent an enjoyable week-end with the headmaster and Professor McGonagall. For the first time since his arrival back at Hogwarts, both professors were actually at the castle and able to spend some time with him. McGonagall took him out onto the quidditch pitch on Saturday morning, where Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick – both at the castle for the day to complete various errands of their own – joined them in a fierce two-a-side match that left everyone mud-splattered and windswept. Harry and Flitwick carried the day with Harry's spectacular capture of the practise snitch, though it was a very near thing considering McGonagall and Hooch's uncommonly good skills with the quaffle. To Harry's shock, Flitwick turned out to be a formidable beater. He would not have thought the tiny Charms professor would be quite so ferocious with a bat.

Harry spent most of the afternoon on Saturday revising his Potions examination – hoping to get it out of the way for Monday. In the evening after dinner, he worked again on Occlumency with the headmaster, and had his first dreamless night since the unfortunate incident with the Dementors.

Thus, Harry was in a very good mood as they sat down to breakfast on Sunday, made even more cheerful by the presence of both Remus _and_ Hagrid, who'd returned the previous night from whatever mysterious errand he'd been up to.

'I should like a word later this afternoon, Hagrid,' Dumbledore said with a smile, as Hagrid finally set Harry down from a bone-crushing hug in greeting.

'Righ' yeh are, professor,' Hagrid agreed genially. 'Or I can come up ter yer office after breakfast, if yeh want.'

'Actually, I was rather hoping Harry and Minerva might accompany me into the village this morning,' said Dumbledore with twinkling eyes. 'I find my stock of sherbet lemons growing dangerously low, and I should hate to find I am out in the middle of the night.'

Beside the headmaster, Harry thought McGonagall made a muttered, sarcastic reply, but he was too excited by the headmaster's proposal to care. 'Really, professor?' he said with a grin. 'We can go into Hogsmeade today?'

'We can,' Dumbledore confirmed. 'Would anyone care to join us? Hagrid? Remus? Severus?'

'I think I'll leave yer ter yourselves this mornin' Hagrid said. 'I ough' ter… settle things, a bit,' he added with a wink.

'I shall pay you a visit on our return then,' said the headmaster agreeably. 'Remus, Severus? Would either of you fancy a trip to the village?'

Remus smiled. 'I have much to unpack, if I'm staying the summer,' he said regretfully. 'I want to get my quarters into some semblance of order if Harry is to begin studying with me tomorrow.'

'Fair point,' McGonagall put in primly. 'Those rooms have not been in use in years. I shudder to think what state you must have found them in.'

Dumbledore looked expectantly at Snape, who turned his obsidian gaze on Harry for a moment before meeting the headmaster's eyes.

'No, thank you, headmaster,' he said shortly. Dumbledore did not seem surprised.

'Very well,' he said lightly. 'Then I suppose it is just the three of us,' he said, pushing a plate of sausages nearer to Harry.

An hour or so later, Harry and the two professors set off across the grounds. It was a beautiful day, nearly windless with gorgeous blue skies and hardly a cloud. Harry took advantage of the warm weather, leaving both his cloak and outer robe behind in favour of a light tee-shirt and jeans. The feel of the sunlight on his exposed arms and face was glorious.

As they crested the hill toward the gates though, Harry's mood turned suddenly much gloomier. He faltered in his step.

'What is it, Harry?' asked McGonagall, as she and the headmaster came to a halt a few paces in front of him.

Harry bit the inside of his lip. He didn't want to seem too nervous. 'Er – didn't you tell me that the Dementors were going to guard the grounds?' he asked, trying to seem nonchalant. 'I just… you know,' he shrugged. 'I don't want to ruin everything by having a fit or something.'

McGonagall smiled softly in understanding. 'Don't worry,' she reassured him. 'The headmaster and I are well capable of keeping you from feeling the Dementors' effects. We will cast defensive spells before we reach the gates.'

'We might as well do it now,' Dumbledore put in, perhaps sensing the deepness of Harry's unease. With a practised ease, he summoned a beautiful silver phoenix from the tip of his wand. McGonagall followed suit, and Harry saw a silver tabby join the phoenix in front of them. He vaguely recognised it, and realised with a jolt that he'd seen the Transfiguration professor conjure the cat before – last summer in the Great Hall.

'Yours looks like you, professor,' he said to McGonagall as they started down the hill again. 'Like you when you shift into a cat, that is,' he clarified. He'd seen her do it several times now, over the previous summer. She smiled at him.

'Patronuses take the form of the animal most suited to the caster – the form with which they share the greatest affinity,' she explained. 'It is not uncommon for a wizard's animagus form and patronus to share the same characteristics, although it is not a definite correlation.'

'Animagus?' Harry asked, confused. McGonagall rolled her eyes.

'Clearly your Transfiguration reading has not occupied any of your summer time thus far,' she said in disapproving tones. Harry could not honestly tell if she was serious or not. 'An animagus is a witch or wizard who can transform at will into an animal – always one specific animal, mind you. As you know, I myself take the form of the cat.'

'Why a cat?' Harry asked. 'Just because it's your favourite animal?'

McGonagall looked scandalised. 'My _favourite_ animal is the lion, Harry Potter!' she chastised in mock horror. 'But, alas, we can choose neither our animagus nor patronus form. A sad disappointment it can be, for animagus training takes many months – years even. Imagine how unsatisfactory it might be to find after so many long hours of training that one's form is a slug?'

Harry chuckled a bit. The headmaster, he noticed, was humming slightly to himself as Harry and McGonagall chatted, leading the way forward just behind the patronuses.

'So, you had to learn to transform then?' he asked. 'I always thought it was just one of those weird wizarding talents – that you were born with it.'

'Oh no,' McGonagall disagreed with a small smile of nostalgia. 'I worked very hard to accomplish the animagus transformation.'

'It's amazing this place isn't crawling with animaguses then,' Harry reasoned. 'If you can learn to do it.'

McGonagall snorted. 'Animagi, Harry, is the proper plural form. And the talent may not be innate, but the process of training is very rigorous. Not everyone is up for it. Thank heavens, or we would have quite a job keeping them all in check.'

'Did you learn at Hogwarts?' asked Harry curiously.

'I did,' McGonagall said with a nod. 'In my seventh and final year. I took a special tutorial twice a week, and of course there were numerous out of the classroom tests. For example, in order to learn proper focus, you must keep the leaf of a mandrake in your mouth for an entire month.'

'A _month_?!' said Harry doubtfully. 'How do you avoid swallowing it?'

'Very carefully,' McGonagall answered wryly. 'Or else you must start from the beginning.'

'Ugh,' said Harry, thinking of holding increasingly rotting leaves in his mouth all month. 'How exactly does that teach you focus?'

'They taste quite disgusting,' McGonagall offered simply. 'Trust me, learning to function through your day and cast magic while ignoring the foul taste is baptism by fire when it comes to developing focus.'

They had reached the wrought iron gates now. Harry stiffened in anticipation, but the silvery patronuses seemed to be doing their job: he didn't see a sign of Dementors anywhere.

'So, who taught you to be an animagus, professor?' Harry asked, letting the tension leave his shoulders as they passed safely through the boundary.

'Who do you think?' the headmaster put in with a wink. Harry stared.

' _You_ taught Professor McGonagall, sir?' he asked in surprise.

Dumbledore laughed. 'Come now, Harry,' he said reasonably. 'You know I was the head of the Transfiguration department prior to my selection as headmaster. I taught Minerva for seven years. In fact, I believe it was my suggestion that drew her into becoming an animagus in the first place. I believe I told her it would aide in her uncanny ability –'

'To master all aspects of the trade,' McGonagall cut in, giving Dumbledore an amused look that somehow also contained a warning. The headmaster cleared his throat suspiciously.

'Yes, precisely, Minnie dear,' he agreed. But Harry wondered if that was truly what he meant to say.

'So can you transform as well then, sir?' Harry asked, intrigued.

'Perhaps,' the headmaster replied in a mysterious tone.

'Oh, go on,' Harry encouraged. 'Do you turn into a phoenix, like your patronus?'

'Not to my knowledge,' said Dumbledore, twinkling back at him. Minerva snorted. 'As Minnie has told you, it is not an absolute rule that a wizard's patronus and his animagus form will match. I'm afraid I am among the odd minority there. Animagi also do not take the form of a magical creature – that is, sadly, a general rule. The transformation can alter the physical form, but it is impossible to endow the magical gifts that are unique to each species of magical creature.'

'I guess I can see that,' said Harry, trying his best to comprehend. 'So, what _is_ your form then, professor?' he asked.

Dumbledore smiled. 'Perhaps I shall tell you one day,' he said. 'But I find there may be certain advantages to remaining _in cognito_ for now.'

'Like the fact that you have not registered an animagus ability with the Ministry?' asked McGonagall shrewdly.

'Like that,' agreed Dumbledore in a light tone. 'Although I think you will find, Minnie, that the law is incredibly particular. It states that those _attempting_ the animagus transformation must register their animal and markings… and it was passed in 1930.'

'Are you claiming that you have never transformed since the enactment of the Animagus Registry?' asked McGonagall doubtfully. 'Because I am quite certain –'

'Certainly not,' said Dumbledore with a smile. 'But of course, if I had mastered the transformation prior to 1930, then nothing I did would ever be an _attempt_ , now, would it?'

McGonagall looked disapproving, but Harry laughed.

'Why would the Ministry want a registry of Animagi?' Harry asked, when he'd pulled himself together. 'Just because it's difficult to learn?'

'Difficult and dangerous,' McGonagall corrected. 'It can go horribly wrong, especially in the beginning.'

'That is part of the reason,' Dumbledore acknowledged. 'But there is also much evidence in wizarding history of people learning the ability for nefarious purposes. You can imagine how useful it might be, for a thief or criminal to be able to transform her appearance – sneak unnoticed through the shadows… spy from garden walls, perhaps?'

McGonagall cleared her throat pointedly. Her cheeks, Harry noticed, were rather pink, and Dumbledore's eyes were shining with suppressed mirth. 'And then there are those who seek only to expand their abilities and knowledge,' she added huffily.

'But,' Harry reasoned, 'If it's useful for criminals to have this secret form, why would they bother registering themselves with the Ministry in the first place? I mean – they're criminals, aren't they? Surely some regulation would hardly bother them?'

McGonagall frowned in disapproval, but the headmaster chuckled again. 'From the mouths of babes,' he said jovially.

Harry scowled.

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Albus led the other two down the high street in good spirits, enjoying the warm weather and company. He headed straight for Honeydukes, much to Minerva's disapproval, where he loaded up in the Muggle sweet section and selected a few wizarding treats as well. Upon his encouragement, Harry made a few choices for himself, adding them to Albus' already overflowing basket. Minerva even slid a box of ginger newts on top, despite her chastisement of the boys.

They headed next into Tomes & Scrolls, where Minerva was much more animated in helping Harry select the books for his third year courses (except for Defence, which was still in flux given the uncertainty of Remus' position). She tutted a bit as they added _Unfogging the Future_ to the pile. Albus knew Minerva thoroughly disapproved of Harry's taking Divination as an elective – only more so since he had confided in her about the prophecy last summer. She had wanted to pull him from the course when they reviewed the third year selections, but Albus had insisted that Harry ought to be allowed to pursue whatever interests he had, just as any other student would at his age.

Albus supplemented the book selection with a few of his own choosing for both Harry and himself, and asked the proprietor to send the lot up to the school to await them. They stopped into Gladrags for a few new things apiece, and then Harry's stomach began growling audibly.

'Sorry,' the boy said, going a bit red as Minerva raised an eyebrow. 'Should have eaten a bigger breakfast.'

'Nonsense,' said Albus with a smile. 'I was just beginning to get peckish myself. What say we pop over to the Three Broomsticks for lunch? It's coming on one.'

'The Hog's Head, I think,' Minerva said lightly, steering them down the street in the opposite direction. 'I've already sent word to Abe that we'd be dropping by this afternoon. It wouldn't do to disappoint.'

'I think he could soldier on,' said Albus grumpily, but he followed Minerva and Harry toward his brother's dingy pub anyway.

As was usual in the mid-afternoon, there were very few patrons when they stepped through the door. Minerva waved a greeting to Aberforth, and led the way to a corner booth.

'Stop sulking,' she chastised Albus in an undertone, as Harry launched himself up onto a high stool. 'You come here often enough on your own.'

'Not by choice,' Albus grumbled back, but he flicked open the menu regardless. Not that he really needed it, by now.

'Still surviving, I see,' Aberforth said in greeting, plopping three glasses of water down on the wooden table.

'It appears so,' said Albus lightly, moving his menu to safety as his own glass spontaneously spilled over. 'Sorry to disappoint.'

'Hmm,' Aberforth groused. 'Didn't mean you, Albus,' he said gruffly. 'You're an institution – probably bury us all. I was speaking to the boy here. After all, way I hear it he's the one been up to all sorts since last I saw him.'

Harry gave a nervous smile in reply. 'I'm alright, thanks sir,' he said shyly.

Aberforth chuckled, and ruffled Harry's hair with one calloused hand. Albus winced a little.

'You are alright, I'd wager,' the barman said. 'But enough of this "sir," nonsense. Call me Aberforth, or Abe, lad, won't you.'

'Alright then,' Harry agreed with a grin.

'Can you join for a pint?' asked Minerva, looking around the bar. Aberforth hesitated.

'Let me see the last of this lot gone, and I'll throw up the sign for a bit,' he compromised. 'You want something in the meantime?'

'The usual, I think,' Minerva said with a smile. 'Do you want a butterbeer, Harry?'

'That would be great!' said Harry.

Aberforth tromped off to get the drinks. But his words had given Albus something to think about. He waited until his brother was out of ear shot, then turned to Harry.

'You know, Harry,' he started, wondering how to phrase his request. 'You do not have to continue calling me "professor" or "sir" either, if you do not want to.'

'Nor I,' Minerva added fondly.

Harry nearly choked on his water in shock. Minerva patted him hard on the back, and he emerged from the coughing fit, his face scarlet.

'I, erm, what – what would I call you then?' he asked, not quite meeting either of their eyes.

'Well,' said Albus, eyes twinkling a bit. 'You might start with Albus and Minerva. Those are our given names, after all.'

'That would, er, that would be –'

'Strange?' Albus offered with a smile. 'Perhaps, at first. But I daresay you will grow used to it, in time.'

'Not during the school term, of course,' Minerva clarified sternly. 'I shudder to imagine the Weasley twins deciding they ought to call me "Minnie," in turn.'

Harry laughed a bit, breaking the tension. 'Alright,' he agreed. 'If you're sure. I supposed I could try.'

'Glad you have that sorted,' Aberforth put in, returned to the table with the tray of drinks and clearly having heard the last of their conversation. Harry took the butterbeer eagerly.

'You ask me, you ought to make a thing of it with all your teachers. Personally, I'd ask Severus next.'

This time, it took Minerva several minutes and an _anapneo_ charm to save Harry from drowning in his drink.

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Harry knocked on the door to Remus' quarters later that afternoon rather louder than he would have normally. The shuffling and scraping sounds from beyond the wood told him that his father's friend might not hear him otherwise.

'It's open!' Remus' voice called out. Harry pushed the door ajar.

'Whoa!' he said, looking around the little space in surprise. The study was in shambles, boxes of books, shabby clothing and assorted items scattered on the floor. A small door in the back of the room that Harry hadn't noticed on his last visit seemed to lead off to living quarters, though the entryway there was barred with yet more boxes.

'Er – settling in then?' asked Harry with a grin.

Remus grimaced. 'Somewhat,' he said in a frazzled tone. 'I must admit – I hadn't realised quite how much accumulates over the years. I put most of my things into storage when I left for the continent; I've lived mainly out of a few trunks since then. It didn't seem to make sense to keep paying to store it all if I'm going to be in Britain for the time being, so I sent for everything… I suppose I didn't realise exactly how _much_ I'd stored.' He gestured hopelessly around at the clutter.

'So, er – are you keeping it all here, then?' Harry asked. He surveyed the small space dubiously.

Remus smiled. 'Some of it,' he said. 'It's a bigger space than it looks like – the living quarters are actually quite roomy. But a lot of this is junk now. I'm sorting through everything out here.'

'Can I help?'

'Do you want to?' asked Remus in surprise. 'It's not very interesting work, I'll tell you. And it's slow going – I've been at it since you went down to the village.'

'I don't mind,' said Harry quickly. 'Where can I start?'

Remus grinned, flicking his wand at an overflowing box of robes. The cardboard zoomed through the air and settled itself at the edge of one end of the sofa.

'Have a seat,' Remus invited him. Harry perched on the cushion nearest the box. 'Most of those are useless,' Remus warned him, nodding at the box of robes. 'Throw any that have got a lot of holes or patches onto the rubbish heap there,' he said, pointing at a large pile in the middle of the room. 'And lay the few that are salvageable over the back of the sofa for now.'

Harry set to work as instructed. They talked casually about the trip into Hogsmeade while they sorted their respective boxes. Remus, as it turned out, knew Aberforth very well. They'd been friends and allies during the war against Voldemort. He chuckled at Harry's bemusement when the latter described the odd relationship between Aberforth and his brother.

'That's typical, Harry,' he reassured him. 'Don't you worry about it.'

'But, I swear it's like they don't even like each other!' said Harry, frowning. 'They're always having a go at one another.'

Remus gave him a sympathetic smile. 'Perhaps, if your father and mother had lived, you would have understood,' he said sadly. 'James and Lily always wanted a houseful of children. Brothers and sisters fight, Harry – they snipe and needle each other. It's just what they do. But they love each other anyway, and they have each other's backs in the end. That's all that really matters. Surely you have friends with larger families?'

'Ron's my best mate, and he's sixth of seven,' Harry affirmed. 'I know they're always at each other's throats… but they're all still kids, you know? Most of them are, anyway. Albus and Aberforth are… well, really _old_.' He grinned a little as Remus began to laugh so hard he nearly cried. 'Sorry,' he added, when Remus had pulled himself together at last. 'But, it's true!'

Remus wiped at a bit of moisture in the corner of his eye, still struggling to contain a chuckle. 'I'm not sure you ever grow out of that sort of thing,' Remus admitted. 'But then – I too am an only child, so what would I really know about it?'

Harry smiled, returning to his task. They worked in companionable silence for a short while, until at last Harry's fingers scraped the bottom of the large box.

'Finished!' he announced. 'Do you want to have a look at the ones I set aside?'

'Very efficient,' Remus said approvingly, pushing himself off his seat on the floor and approaching to peruse the pile. 'Thank you, Harry.' He rifled briefly through the small stack of robes Harry had saved, choosing a few to add to the rubbish pile. 'Out of fashion,' he explained when Harry raised his eyebrows. 'Too much so even for me, I'm afraid. The rest will do, however.'

Harry ran a hand along the topmost cloth. None of these were at all 'nice,' even to Harry's inexperienced eye. But he could tell – even in the short time he'd known him – that Remus did not have a lot of money. He supposed the man was trying to make the best of what he had. And Harry, who'd never had _anything_ new until he'd come to Hogwarts, was hardly in a position to criticise. Instead, he gathered up the selection.

'Where can I put them?' he asked Remus, who was watching him with tender eyes.

'I think there's a wardrobe in the corner of the bedroom,' Remus said, clearing his throat a bit. 'I haven't really accomplished much in there yet, but it should be along the far wall. Would you mind putting them in there?'

Harry nodded, climbing off the sofa and carrying his bundle carefully over the clutter in the doorframe. He located the wardrobe Remus had indicated without much trouble. Though fairly roomy, the bedroom was still barren and cold. Remus had obviously not touched anything here beside the bed itself. He laid the robes carefully down across the edge of the footboard, deciding to see if there were hangers available. He pulled open the wardrobe door.

A blast of bitterly cold air hit him in the face at once, as though the wardrobe had been the portal to a snowy Narnia. Astonished and slightly breathless from the sudden chill, Harry took a small step backwards. There were goose pimples on his arms now. Something was definitely off. He made to close the door again – perhaps Remus ought to see the wardrobe first... But even as he attempted to push the door shut, a scaly, rotted-looking hand with long grey fingers wrapped itself around the edge of the wood.

Harry cried out in shock, stumbling backward as a tall, hooded figure stepped smoothly from the depths of the wardrobe, it's face in shadows beneath the black folds of its cloak.

He vaguely registered Remus' call of 'Harry?' from the other room… but the Dementor was already turning its head toward him, gliding slowly nearer and nearer. And Harry found his voice was frozen in his chest.

Everything was frozen… cold, empty. His eyes were rolling back again, and the woman was screaming…

 _Stand aside, you silly girl! Stand aside now_.

 _Not Harry! Please! Not_

'Harry!'

Someone was slapping his face. Harry groaned. He wished they would stop. He felt horribly nauseous already, and he might sick up on this person if they didn't back away.

And he had to help the woman.

'Come on, wake up now,' the voice continued, still tapping at his cheeks. 'You're alright.'

'Re – Remus?' Harry stuttered, recognising his attacker. He opened his eyes slowly. They felt very heavy. The minute he did he wished he'd left them closed – the room seemed to be spinning around him. He realised he was lying on something soft… Remus must have put him on the bed.

'The Dementor –' Harry started, alarmed, as everything came rushing back.

'It's alright,' said Remus soothingly, as Harry turned his head to look toward the wardrobe again. The sudden movement caused another wave of nausea, and Harry clamped his eyes tightly shut yet again as he tried to breathe through it. 'You're alright,' Remus repeated. 'Here, have some chocolate.'

Harry opened his eyes as the wave of sickness passed, to see Remus holding out a large bar of chocolate. He shook his head, stomach churning at the thought of anything to eat.

'I'm fine,' he said, 'Not hungry.'

Remus frowned. 'It will help the feeling pass, Harry, I promise. Just try and eat a bit of it.'

Harry grimaced, but took the slab from Remus' hand. He chanced a very small bite. Instantly, he felt the warmth from the treat spread through his body like a heating charm, dispelling the worst of the chill and nausea. He took a few more, larger bites, and felt well enough to sit up against the headboard.

'Feeling better?' asked Remus kindly.

'Much,' Harry agreed. 'That's brilliant – I don't remember the cocoa making me feel so much better after the first time.'

Remus smiled at him. 'Well, the circumstances were a bit different then,' he admitted. 'But chocolate is the best remedy for the effects of Dementors. You should be fine in a few minutes.'

Harry felt his face redden. 'I'm sorry I went to pieces again,' he said sheepishly. 'But how did a Dementor get in your wardrobe?'

'It wasn't a Dementor, Harry,' Remus explained gently. 'It was a boggart.'

'A what?' asked Harry, confused.

'A boggart,' Remus repeated. 'A shape-shifter. You'll probably study them in the next year or so – they're considered Dark creatures, although they do not retain the same strength of magic as whatever form they are impersonating. That is why you are not experiencing quite as terrible a reaction as you might have done had the creature been a true Dementor. Boggarts prefer dark, enclosed spaces. That wardrobe has been empty for many years… I should have considered the possibility that a boggart might take up residence.'

'But, why would the boggart shape-shift into a Dementor?' asked Harry, still puzzled.

Remus gave him a peculiar look. 'Boggarts take on the form of whatever will frighten the viewer most,' he explained carefully. 'In your case, it appears that form is a Dementor. I must admit, I was surprised.'

'Why?' asked Harry, feeling self-conscious.

A sad smile crossed Remus' face. 'Not because a Dementor is an unworthy fear, Harry, believe me,' he said. 'No – it's only that I would have imagined your greatest fear would be Voldemort – a Voldemort returned to full power. But perhaps you are a little too young to imagine that.'

'I _do_ fear Voldemort,' said Harry emphatically. 'I'm terrified of what might happen if he ever comes back. But… at least with Voldemort I feel like I can _do_ something about it, you know? People will fight him – Dumbledore, you, my parents… so many people fought against him last time. And _I'll_ fight against him, if he ever comes back. I did ok the last two times he tried,' he added, with an impish grin. 'But the Dementors are different. I feel like I'm totally powerless every time, and they trap me with these horrible thoughts…' he trailed off, unable to put the exact feeling into words. Remus laid a hand on his arm in comfort.

'The Dementors are an embodiment of Fear, Harry,' he said seriously. 'If they are your greatest fear – that suggests that what you fear most of all _is_ fear, which is very wise indeed.'

Harry didn't really understand that, but he smiled anyway.

'What did you do to the boggart?' he asked. 'Did you get rid of it?'

'Not yet,' Remus replied, nodding back toward the wardrobe. Harry noticed for the first time that it was rattling slightly. He frowned.

'Don't worry,' said Remus, smiling. 'I put a charm on the door. I'll move him out of there later tonight, but I had a thought.' He considered Harry very seriously. 'Are you certain that you want to continue with this ambition to learn the patronus charm?' he asked.

'Yes, of course!' said Harry quickly. 'I want to start straight away!'

'Well then,' said Remus hesitantly, 'I think perhaps we should keep the boggart, for now. I have an old trunk he'll probably like. We can practise on him, once you've managed to grasp the incantation. We can't, of course, bring an actual Dementor up into the school. The headmaster would have my head, and I would never risk putting you in such danger anyway. But if your boggart remains a Dementor, it should do as a suitable substitute for our purposes.'

'That's a great idea!' said Harry enthusiastically. Remus frowned. He looked rather as though he was already regretting the decision.

'I'm not sure…' he said doubtfully. 'If the boggart continues to have such an effect on you in and of itself, this may not be the wisest idea. But we'll give it a try, for now. _Very_ slowly.'

Harry nodded eagerly. 'It'll be fine,' he assured the man. 'I'll make sure to bring some chocolate with me.'

Remus chuckled. 'Never you mind about that,' he said with a wink. 'I always have plenty on hand.'

Harry grinned. 'When can we start?'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Potions revision went quite smoothly on Monday morning, much to Harry's surprise. He was far more eager to meet with Remus that afternoon to discuss the Nimue reading, and to start wandless magic the following day, to let Snape's occasional sarcastic remark ruin his attempt at the Draught of Peace – a fifth year potion that Snape seemed to feel would properly humble Harry after doing so well on his Potions examination. Harry managed a good faith effort, but he knew the final product was far from perfect. To his shock, however, Snape merely gave the brew an irritated nod, grudgingly admitting that it was better than he would have expected from Harry before dismissing him for the morning.

He ate a quick lunch with Dum – Albus – back in the headmaster's study, and then hurried off with the old book for Remus' quarters, where they had arranged to work in the study for the afternoon.

'Come in, Harry,' Remus called as he knocked on the door. Harry noticed the study looked much tidier than it had done the last time he visited: nearly all the boxes were gone now, and a few of Remus' belongings sat on the little table and shelves. The overall effect was to make the shabby room much more inviting.

'The place looks good,' said Harry with a grin.

Remus smiled. 'Well, I don't know about "good," but it is certainly an improvement,' he allowed. 'Thank you again for your assistance yesterday.'

'I wasn't much help,' said Harry with a self-conscious shrug. 'Especially after I went and had a fit again. But maybe that'll change in a few weeks,' he added hopefully, lifting up the book.

'I'm sure it will,' said Remus, returning the smile. 'Now, why don't you have a seat, and tell me what you thought of Chapter Seven.'

Harry sat on the sofa, clutching _Protection in the Face of Darkness_ in his lap. 'Well, I guess I was a bit confused, to be honest' he started. 'I asked Mc – Minerva to translate the title for me,' he admitted. 'My Latin has never been that great. She told me custodes lucem et obices ad tenebras translates to "Guardians of the Light and Barriers to Darkness."'

'That is correct,' Remus said, still smiling. 'But perhaps you should consider tutoring in Latin – many wizarding children take several years of study in the language before starting at Hogwarts. It isn't required, of course, but it can be a helpful tool, given that many of our spells derive their incantations from Latin roots.'

Harry groaned. 'Remus!' he complained, 'I'm full up on summer tutorials as it is! I can't add something else to the timetable now – my brain will explode!'

He scowled as Remus laughed. 'Alright, don't worry,' the man said reassuringly. 'I won't press the issue to Albus or anything. Anyway, tell me why you thought the chapter was confusing.'

'Well, the author describes the patronus as the ultimate goodness – a guardian of the light, I suppose she means. She says that the patronus embodies the innate nature of the caster, and acts like a conjured talisman in times of trouble. I suppose I understand the first part well enough; we talked about the form that patronuses take on the walk down to the village over the weekend, and Minerva said they usually show the animal that best fits with the witch or wizard. But the second part I don't understand at all. I mean, why not come out and say they repel Dementors? Why make it so cryptic?'

'Several reasons, I should think,' said Remus. 'But perhaps the most obvious is that Nimue, from what we know of her lifetime, is unlikely to have ever come across a Dementor.'

Harry was confused for a moment, until he recalled the conversation he'd had with Dumbledore about Azkaban's history. 'Because the Dementors weren't found in Britain until centuries later?' he guessed.

'Right in one,' Remus answered with a nod. 'There are some Arthurian myths in Muggle legend that arise out of the northern parts of France, but nothing in what we know of wizarding history confirms that Merlin and Nimue ever went to the continent; nor that, if they did, they encountered Dementors there. It is entirely possible that Nimue's invention or use of the patronus charm was unrelated to Dementors.'

'But what would be the point then?' asked Harry, flummoxed.

'There are many reasons to use a patronus, Harry,' Remus said seriously. 'In fact, protection against Dementor attacks is probably among the least common. Patronuses can provide a defence against both Dementors and lethifolds, but they are much more frequently used as lookouts, messengers, or – indeed – guardians. It is commonly believed that Nimue used her patronus to accompany Arthur into battle, as a source of morale and comfort to him when she could not always be by his side. A reminder of the lightness of his cause, perhaps.' Remus shrugged. 'This is all conjecture, of course. There are very few remaining sources to consult. I doubt she utilised the patronus as a messenger, as that particular use was not developed until the midst of war against Voldemort, as far as I know. But she may have had many other motives.'

Harry nodded. His head was already reeling with the onslaught of information again.

'Do you recall what is necessary to summon the energy for a patronus charm?' Remus asked.

'Er – I don't think she really says,' Harry admitted. 'She says you focus on the things you want the patronus to project, or something like that… and create the form that will hold that emotion. I don't really get how to do that though.'

Remus smiled. 'It is less of a true textbook in that regard,' he said in sympathy. 'But I thought it might provide an interesting foundational reading. Perhaps we should go over the theory in greater detail.'

He pushed back the sleeves of his robes, and gestured for Harry to stand.

'The patronus, as you read, is a projection of the very sort of emotion that a Dementor feeds on – hope, happiness, the desire to survive… A Patronus is a kind of positive force and, for the wizard who can conjure one, it works similar to a shield. It cannot feel despair or pain, so the Dementor cannot hurt it. Instead, the creature is repelled by the projection – and it cannot touch the caster when the incantation works properly. Again, I must warn you, Harry, that the charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards can never manage it, and you are not yet thirteen.'

'I can do it,' Harry said with determination, trying not to look at all apprehensive. Remus smiled, though he did not look convinced.

'We'll practise without the boggart for now,' he insisted. 'Once you've got the hang of the spell, we'll try it against him.'

Harry nodded, pushing back his own sleeves. 'What do I do?'

'You must concentrate on a single, very happy memory. Allow it to fill the forefront of your mind, and put all your energy into recalling the sensations.'

Harry closed his eyes, wracking his brains to think of a memory that would do. He decided at last on the moment he'd first ridden a broomstick. He thought hard about the amazing, soaring feeling in his stomach, the wonderful bliss that came with the ease of flying. Smiling slightly, he reopened his eyes.

'Got it,' he said.

'Excellent,' Remus replied in approval. 'Now, the incantation is "expecto patronum,"' he continued. 'You move your wand like so,' he demonstrated for Harry, circling the wand before him in an anticlockwise motion. 'Once you succeed in conjuring a patronus, you will be able to direct the figure.'

'Expecto patronum,' Harry repeated, trying out the wand movement. 'Expecto patronum!'

'Don't forget to concentrate on your happy memory!' Remus reminded him.

'Oh, yeah,' Harry said, digging up the sensation of flying again. 'Expecto patrono – no, patronum! Expecto patronum!'

And something dark grey and smoky whooshed out of the end of his wand, hovering for a moment before him. Harry was so surprised, he promptly forgot to keep his concentration on the memory. The grey mist began to fade away, but he turned a shining face toward Remus.

'Did you see?' he asked eagerly. 'Something happened that time!'

'Indeed,' Remus agreed, smiling. 'Very good, Harry. I'm quite impressed. Now, try it once more – and this time try to keep your focus.'

They kept at it for nearly two hours, by which point – to Harry's delight – he was able to produce a wisp of the grey smoke every time. It wasn't the same as the beautiful silver that formed into McGonagall's cat or Dumbledore's phoenix… but it was better than nothing. And Remus, delighted with Harry's quick progress, finally gave into Harry's pleading and promised that he could try it on the boggart the following afternoon.


	9. Stretching the Core

**A/N:** Chapter Nine! If you find yourself confused as to the conversation between Harry and Dumbledore referenced by Snape/Harry during this chapter, it might help to refresh your memory by revisiting Chapter 12 of Part I (How to Bewitch the Mind). Enjoy!

WARNING: LANGUAGE.

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 9: Stretching the Core**

'Wandless magic,' Severus lectured, striding back and forth across the floor in front of the sole-occupied desk, 'Is the most complex and difficult branch of magic a wizard can study. It is not a field that is generally taught at Hogwarts, even to our most promising students. Most wizards who are learned in wandless magic in this age are taught by their master when apprenticing, or by a close mentor, or even self-taught, in many cases. Why are you not copying this down?' he barked at Potter.

Jumping, the boy quickly bent to retrieve parchment and quill from his bag, scribbling a recap of Severus' speech.

'The headmaster tells me,' Severus continued, 'That he spoke with you briefly on the subject of wandless and innate magic and the source of a wizard's power, when he instructed you in the basics of Occlumency last summer.' He waited for Potter's nod of confirmation before resuming his lecture. 'I shall assume you are aware, then, that wandless magic is both more natural and more unique to an individual wizard than practising wand movements and incantations – which makes the instruction of wandless magic a highly individualised process. Moreover, the magical core is something we are born with – it can be trained and advanced, but it cannot be expanded beyond whatever capability we were meant to have. There are limits to what I can teach you – yours, and my own. You are also still very young; the magical core continues to grow and mature throughout a wizard's lifetime, but most especially before the age of seventeen. You will need to be quite careful in exercising diligence and caution in your training, or you risk permanent disability. Do you understand this, Potter?'

Potter nodded, still scribbling madly. Severus waited for him to look up so he could impress the gravity of his warning. Potter swallowed, looking nervous.

'Young witches and wizards perform what we call accidental magic – intentional magic guided by their emotions, in most cases. Most children are not aware of consciously using these abilities, although there are some exceptional cases where a wizarding child recognises what it is they can do and begins to do so consciously.'

'Yeah, Albus spoke to me about that too,' Potter put in.

'Do not interrupt me!' Severus snapped. 'And do not speak so disrespectfully of the headmaster.'

'Sorry, sir, but he did tell me to call him "Albus,"' the brat defended, going red.

Severus gave an involuntary twitch, as if brushing off an irksome fly. He felt his ire grow, but clamped firmly down upon the urge to slap the child. It would not do, if he wanted these lessons to be a success. _Albus_ might make him stop them if he thought _Harry_ was being unfairly treated.

How infuriating.

'You are already aware of how fields like Potions and Occlumency exemplify wandless magic,' he went on, his voice only slightly stiffer than it might have been before. 'But, of course, casting spells is something entirely different. It involves the mastery of one's own magical core, which allows the caster the discipline to use their magical abilities without the aid of a wand. The most difficult portion of this technique is learning to control your focus and precision in regards to each spell, for these are the attributes that the wand often regulates for us, at least in part. Wands can also promulgate or magnify the strength of a spell, so wizards often find they must expend different levels of energy if they are casting without the aid of a wand. This is perhaps the one advantage to learning young – for while your core is not yet magically mature, you are also having to use more force with your wand than you will as an adult, so that particular effort will not seem quite so burdensome.

'As with Occlumency, instruction can take you only so far in this field. You will need to learn on your own how best to reach into your own magical reserves – for your core is entirely different from mine. I can guide you, but that is all. Do you understand?'

'Yes, sir,' said Potter, looking a little more apprehensive.

Severus smirked a bit. 'Good,' he said simply. 'Now, before we begin, I would like to get a little more of an understanding of your general abilities.'

Potter wrinkled his forehead. 'You've taught me for two years, sir,' he pointed out. 'Surely you have an idea by now?'

Severus rolled his eyes. 'Your _wandless_ abilities, Potter!' he snapped. 'Do try to be a little less oblivious than your usual standard, won't you? Or I am afraid this will be a very long summer for us both.'

Potter scowled, folding his arms. Severus ignored him.

'Obviously, I know about the incidents at the end of last term. And the situation with your aunt at the start of the holiday. But I wish you to tell me of any other occasions when you may have performed wandless spells.'

Potter considered. 'I… I don't really know, sir,' he admitted. 'I don't remember any other times – not like the thing in the Chamber, at least.'

'What about as a child?' Severus pressed. 'Before you came to the school.'

'I thought you said accidental magic wasn't the same, sir?'

'Just answer the question – Potter!' snapped Severus in exasperation. Potter frowned, but thought on it.

'Well, one time I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin, Dudley,' he recalled, a faint smile crossing his face.

'And how, exactly, do you accidentally set a snake on another child?' asked Severus, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. He had a feeling that this could prove to be a long and trying conversation.

'We were at the zoo for Dudley's birthday. They had to take me along, because Mrs Figg had broken her leg and couldn't watch me for the day. I was looking around the reptile house, and there was this beautiful big snake asleep in a tank. I talked to her… it was before I knew I was a parselmouth, so I didn't really realise what was going on… but she told me she'd never seen Brazil. My cousin and his friend saw me at it, and they pushed me out of the way to get a look. Then I accidentally vanished the glass. That was right before I got my letter for Hogwarts.'

'I see,' said Severus, turning the information over in his mind. 'Anything else?'

Potter shrugged. 'There were lots of little things, mostly the kind of stuff the headmaster says all magical children do. Summoning food and toys, getting out of my cot once or twice when the bars should have been too high – things like that.' Severus nodded, he remembered well enough the scene he'd watched through the window, when Potter had been little more than a year old.

'A few times, I managed to grow my hair super quickly – when Aunt Petunia gave me awful haircuts,' Harry revealed.

Severus gave him a piercing glance. 'Can you change anything else about your appearance?' he asked sharply.

Potter shook his head. 'I don't think so,' he admitted. 'Or I'd have tried to get rid of my scar ages ago. But she never could get my hair to behave properly.'

Hmm… no metamorphmagus abilities then. Pity, for Potter's potential chances at disguising himself without aide; excellent for Severus' ability to keep an eye on him.

'I've shrunk jumpers that I didn't like,' the boy added, still apparently thinking over his childhood mishaps. 'And once I turned my teacher's hair blue when I was angry with her. Sometimes locked doors have come open for me – that's why my aunt and uncle started adding extra locks to keep me in when I was being punished. Oh, and one time I jumped onto the school roof.'

'You did _what_?' asked Severus, startled.

'Yeah, I don't really know how that one happened. When I was little, I always thought I must have been caught by the wind or something, because I was only trying to dive behind some bins behind the school kitchen. But now, obviously, I think it was probably magic of some kind.'

'You thought it was the _wind_?' Severus clarified, incredulous.

'Well, yeah,' said Potter defensively. 'What was I supposed to think? I was only seven or eight at the time, I think, and I didn't know that the wizarding world _existed_ , much less that I was a wizard myself.'

'And yet you apparated,' Severus pointed out, frowning at him.

Potter frowned back. 'No… I don't think it was apparition,' he said, looking pensive.

Severus rolled his eyes. 'You desired to be elsewhere, you were determined to be elsewhere, and then you _were_ elsewhere. You have not, of course, learned how to apparate on your own yet, but that is the general idea.'

'Maybe,' said Potter, still sounding doubtful. 'But I didn't feel anything like how I felt the first time that I apparated with the headmaster, or with you, sir,' he recalled with a small shudder. 'I wouldn't forget that sensation in a hurry.'

'Perhaps,' Severus allowed. 'But wandless magic, as I have already explained, works differently than that practised with a wand. It is possible that you would not have the same reaction to your own apparition, or to a wandless apparition.' He thought it over in his mind's eye, picturing the young and scrawny Potter taking a flying leap in an attempt to dodge his Muggle tormentors. And then, unbidden into his mind came another image – a beautiful red-haired girl, laughing joyfully as she took a soaring leap off a Muggle swing, arching higher than any child should have been able and landing lightly as a cat.

'But perhaps,' he said, clearing his throat as he swallowed down the old memories, 'It was something else entirely.'

Potter was giving him an odd sort of look now, and Severus quickly turned away, clearing some space in the centre of the room with a sweep of his arm.

'Enough reminiscing,' he said, taking a stance at the far end of the room. 'The first thing we must do is determine how to connect you with your magical core – that is the first step in learning to manipulate it. I believe we should start with the shield charm, since you seem to have an affinity for the spell and you know you have consciously used it without your wand in the past.'

'Alright,' said Potter, jumping off his chair. 'Er – you just want me to cast it then, sir.'

Severus smirked. 'You could try that, certainly. And we shall see… other measures might be required. Lay your wand upon the desk.'

Potter did as Severus instructed, taking his place opposite the professor across the long space.

'Go on then, boy,' Severus prompted.

Potter held out his hand in front of him. 'Protego!' he shouted.

Nothing happened.

Potter frowned. He pulled his arm back and tried again. ' _Protego_!'

Still nothing.

Smirking again, Severus withdrew his own wand. He shot a silent stinging hex at Potter.

'Ouch!' the boy complained, rubbing at his arm where Severus' spell had hit. 'What was that for?'

'Motivation,' Severus said simply. 'I will cast, you will block. On three then. One, two,'

'But that's not – OUCH!' Potter roared again, shaking his left hand this time. Severus grinned maliciously.

'You will learn quickly, Potter, that your enemies will not care whether something is fair or not. You'll learn to block – or you will get stung. Now, prepare yourself.'

They continued in the exercise for the better part of half an hour. Severus thoroughly enjoyed himself, though he could tell Potter was growing increasingly frustrated. The boy was soon covered in small red welts, and perspiring heavily from the effort of trying to repel the jinx. Even setting aside his own amusement, Severus knew that they were making little progress.

'You are not trying hard enough!' he chastised the boy, when Potter missed the deflection yet again and wound up taking the sting above his left eyebrow. Severus was particularly annoyed at this – he'd been aiming for Potter's shoulder, but the boy had moved downward for some unknown and beguiling reason. For one awful moment, he'd feared he might have to explain to Albus why the boy would need a course of eyesight restorative.

'I'm trying,' Potter grumbled through gritted teeth. 'But you aren't telling me _how_!'

Severus snarled. 'Weren't you listening, Potter?' he snapped. 'I _can't_ tell you how to do it – not this first part. You have to discover it on your own!'

Potter growled in frustration, taking up his stance again, rubbing at the sting on his face. Severus paused to consider… most acts of accidental magic, and even Potter's displays thus far of deliberate wandless magic, were the product of high emotion and stress. Potter was clearly frustrated and annoyed now… but perhaps he hadn't riled him up enough.

Yet.

'You're weak, Potter,' he spat, flinging another hex in the boy's direction. 'You lack self-discipline. Weakness and laziness will be your downfall.'

'I am _not_ weak!' the boy shouted back, trying and failing yet again to block the hex.

'You are,' Severus insisted, his voice as venomous as he could make it. 'Just like your father, content to hide behind the skirts of greater men.'

'Stop!' Potter cried, trying again to deflect. This time, Severus felt the smallest resistance – the tiniest spark of white from Potter's outstretched fingers. He smirked in satisfaction.

'If you do not block me, I will continue to hurt you,' he threatened, thinking of Potter's encounter with the Dark Lord in the Chamber.

Potter flung an arm out again, but this time nothing happened except the boy's howl of pain as the stinging jinx caught him right in the palm.

'Enough!' Severus said in exasperation. Potter took his hand down, still wringing it backward and forward to try and ease the sting. 'Enough,' he repeated, rubbing at the growing ache in his own temple.

'Sit at the desk,' Severus said curtly, sweeping away for the back of the room. Potter sat, and Severus perused his potions stores, selecting a jar and a bottle. He made his way back to the front of the classroom, and set both down on the desk.

'Take that,' he said, pointing to the phial. 'It will take away the sting.'

Potter looked dubiously down at the phial with his nose wrinkled. Severus rolled his eyes, and conjured a glass of pumpkin juice from the kitchens. 'You may wash down the taste,' he said sardonically, smirking as Potter downed the potion immediately.

'Use the balm on the welts,' he said, pointing to the jar. 'And there should be no lasting damage.'

Potter nodded his thanks, dipping his fingers into the thick paste and beginning to dab the unguent onto his many battle wounds. Severus leaned back against the wood of his own desk, watching the boy and thinking hard.

'Tell me, Potter, what is it that you felt when you confronted the Dark Lord with this spell in the Chamber of Secrets?'

Potter shrugged. 'I don't really know,' he admitted. 'Everything was happening so quickly, and I was scared.'

'Scared for your life?' Severus asked.

'Sort of,' Potter said. 'Scared he'd win, I guess. And scared that Ginny would die. I couldn't leave her – she had no chance if I couldn't beat him.'

'Hmm…' said Severus, considering. He let the boy finish applying the salve in silence, thinking over the options. At last, he had an idea.

'Get up,' he said gruffly. Potter rose quickly from the chair, and Severus banished everything back again to clear the space once more.

'Practise the spell until I return,' he said, sweeping for the door.

He left a bemused Potter in the middle of the classroom, and swept quickly for the entrance hall and the grand staircase. He met Minerva halfway up.

'Severus?' she asked in surprise. 'Aren't you supposed to be with Harry this morning?'

'I've left him to work on his own for a few minutes,' Severus said, still striding up the marble steps. 'I had to run an errand… Minerva, what is the name of Potter's owl?'

'His owl?' Minerva repeated, looking more confused still. 'She's called Hedwig, I believe.'

'And is she in the owlery?'

'I – I assume so,' Minerva replied, frowning. 'What is it that you're doing, Severus?'

'Never mind,' he said quickly, taking the steps two at a time now. 'I wish to finish this quickly, before the brat blows up my classroom. It would not be the first time.'

Minerva huffed indignantly, but let him carry on. He made his way up to the owlery without further delay. Entering, he swiftly spotted the correct bird. She was the only snowy owl in the roost.

'Hedwig?' he called softly to her. Several feet above him, the owl opened one sleepy amber eye. 'Hedwig, would you like to see Potter?' he asked her, holding a hand out coaxingly. She opened both eyes now, but glared distrustfully down at the potion master's hand. 'Come on now, you can help him,' he urged in a velvety voice. The bird seemed to consider carefully for a moment. Then, at long last, she fluttered down to land upon his arm.

'Very good,' he crooned, carrying her gently toward the counter. With a bit more cajoling, he was able to shut her firmly in one of the school cages for the journey downstairs.

He was grateful he hadn't needed to stun her.

'What are you doing with Hedwig, sir?' Potter asked warily, as Severus re-entered the classroom with the owl in hand.

Severus set the cage down upon the teacher's desk without answering. The owl hooted a greeting at Potter, who smiled as he started toward her.

'Leave her,' Severus snapped. Potter returned to his position, still looking between the bird and his professor with anxious eyes.

'What is she doing here?' he asked again, more nervous still.

Severus smiled. 'Motivation,' he said again. 'Apparently, saving yourself from pain is not enough, Potter. So I shall have to resort to other means.'

'You – you wouldn't!' Potter cried, looking horrified.

Severus' grin widened. 'That depends entirely on you, of course,' he said lightly. He raised his wand, pointing it at the snowy owl.

' _Protego_!' Potter shouted, diving toward his pet. Bright white light shot from the tips of his fingers and the centre of his palm as he reached wildly to intercept the coming spell, nearly blinding them all with its intensity.

The owl gave an indignant hoot. Severus, who had not in fact intended to cast anything at all, was blasted off his feet by the force of the unimpeded shield, slamming hard into the student store cupboard. He groaned as he rubbed the back of his head, feeling an egg-sized lump already beginning to rise.

Potter, apparently horrified, dropped to his knees in front of him only seconds later.

'I'm so sorry, professor!' he said in shock, holding out a hand as though to help Severus to his feet. 'I – I should have realised you weren't actually going to cast a curse at her. Do you… er, do you want me to call someone?'

'Do not be absurd, you foolish child. I am fine,' he snapped, dragging himself laboriously to his feet again and determined not to wince. 'And the whole idea was that you would think the threat authentic. It worked, did it not?'

Potter grinned, hopping to his own feet. 'Yeah, it did!' he said enthusiastically. 'That was just like in the Chamber – I meant to do it, and it happened!'

Severus rolled his eyes. 'Do you remember the feeling? Can you access the memory clearly?'

Potter screwed up his face as he thought. 'Yeah… I think so. It's a sort of… push, I think, from right in here,' he pointed somewhere between his heart and his stomach, apparently trying to demonstrate the sensation. Severus crossed his arms.

'Can you emulate it?' he asked.

'Can I what?'

Severus sighed in exasperation. 'Can you do it again?'

'Er – I don't know,' Potter said with a shrug. 'Maybe… yeah, I think so. I think I remember how, now.'

'Try then,' said Severus, indicating that Potter should resume his position across the room. 'Only this time, aim at this,' he added, conjuring an ordinary dummy in the centre of the space. Though he would never admit it, he did not much fancy being thrown into any more furniture this morning.

Potter focused intensely on the dummy for a moment, his green eyes burning with the force of his concentration.

' _Protego_!' he cried again. The spell was not quite as powerful as the previous attempt, but the blast still sent the dummy wheeling into the door.

'Good,' said Severus in approval, waving his wand to replace the dummy. 'And again.'

Potter repeated the spell once more, this time a bit stronger than the second attempt. But Severus could tell the repeated effort was exhausting him. He was winded as the second dummy crashed into the door like the first.

'Once more?' the boy asked, straightening up as Severus vanished the used target. 'I think I was closer to my first spell that time.'

'No,' Severus said firmly. 'As I told you, this will be a difficult and slow process. You cannot overtax your magical core at your age, or you risk serious damage. You must remember how magical exhaustion feels – I understand you suffered from it at the end of your first year. And, of course, the tiredness you're experiencing now is a by-product of stretching your core past what it is used to dealing with. We are going to do this _my_ way – methodically and safely; not in some reckless, rash mess of a Gryffindor disaster.'

He could swear the insolent brat nearly smiled. He must be more exhausted than Severus had thought.

'Yes, sir,' Potter said. 'Shall I practise between now and Thursday, then?'

' _No_!' Severus said, so emphatically that Potter nearly fell over he jumped so badly. 'No, Potter, you must _never_ practise alone. Not until you are much more advanced and in control. You will overwork yourself too easily, and there is every chance you could hurt another if the attempt goes badly. You are to give me your word, now, that you will never use wandless magic consciously outside these lessons, unless and until _I_ give you permission to do so.'

'Er –'

'Your word, Potter,' Severus repeated.

'Yes, alright,' the boy agreed, still looking puzzled by Severus' intensity. 'I promise.'

Severus nodded curtly. 'Very well,' he said. 'You may go. What is your schedule for the afternoon?'

'Er, I'm meeting with Remus,' Potter revealed. 'After lunch of course.' He seemed startled by Severus' interest. 'What, er, what is your schedule, professor?' he ventured.

Severus gave him a scathing look, but did not dignify the impertinent inquiry with a response. 'You will be _mindful_ of the strenuous nature of this morning's activities in your next lesson,' he warned the boy. 'That means _no_ new magic, nothing overly physical, and nothing that requires a great deal of magical power,' he clarified. 'Anything you covered with _Lockhart_ ,' he sneered the name, 'or last summer with the headmaster should be alright. And you are to let Lupin know _immediately_ if you are feeling off in the slightest. Do you understand me?'

'Yes, sir,' said Potter quickly. Too quickly.

'This is not a game,' Severus warned, glaring down at the boy. 'And I will be _most_ displeased if you do not heed my instructions.'

'I understand,' said Potter seriously. 'Truly, professor, I promise.'

Severus nodded, and jerked his head toward the door. Potter scampered quickly from the room. Severus sighed, walking over to his potions cupboard and selecting a headache draught – he really had been slammed quite hard when Potter finally got the hang of the spell.

'Classic Potter, to go nil to nuclear,' he grumbled to himself, tipping back the phial.

He ate a solitary lunch in his quarters, relishing the quiet and the calm, and then settled himself into an armchair with a fresh cup of tea to flick through the latest _Daily Prophet_. He hadn't had a chance at breakfast this morning.

With a dark surge of anger, he saw that Black's face still dominated the front page. God, he _hated_ that man. And how foolish were these Ministry morons, that they still couldn't catch one madman with half the Azkaban guards and the whole of the department of magical law enforcement on the lookout? As long as Black remained on the run, they'd all have to work extra hard at Hogwarts to keep Potter from harm.

Potter… who always managed to get himself in more trouble by Hallowe'en than the whole of Slytherin house in a year.

And those blasted Dementors at every corner… who seemed to cause even more harm to Potter than most. Severus supposed this was only to be expected – the boy never could be normal. And now Albus was apparently allowing Lupin to teach him how to –

Severus froze with his tea halfway to his lips. He'd forgotten, until now.

No.

No _fucking_ way!

He was going to kill them both.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Though Remus couldn't help a nagging concern that they were moving a little too quickly, the boy's determination to master the patronus charm caught like infection. By Tuesday, Remus was quite excited for his first practical lesson with Harry, now they had covered the basics of the charm. Harry was bouncing on his feet when Remus let him in at half past one, clearly just as thrilled at the prospect of tackling the Dementor-boggart.

'When the boggart sees you,' Remus instructed, moving over to the old trunk he'd trapped the creature in, 'It will assume the shape of the Dementor. You must not freeze, or delay in your response for even a moment, or you will begin to feel the effects as you did when you stumbled upon him this past Sunday.'

'I remember,' said Harry, who was clearly refraining from rolling his eyes. 'We went over all of this yesterday, Remus.'

'Indulge me,' said Remus with a wry smile. 'Now, concentrate hard on the happy memory, and pour all of your energy into the charm, alright?'

'Got it,' said Harry, rolling up his sleeves.

Remus hesitated. 'Are you quite sure?' he asked, a hand on the latch of the trunk. 'You do not have to do this, Harry.'

'Open it, Remus,' said Harry firmly. 'I'm ready.'

Remus nodded once, and slipped the catch on the latch. He stepped backward and out of the way as the lid of the trunk popped open, a black-hooded figure floating up out of its depths.

'Expecto Patronum!' Harry's voice called out. 'Expecto Patronum! Expectum – no, expecto. Expecto Patro… expect…'

Remus could tell Harry was tiring, his voice fading. He darted from his out-of-view position to intervene, grasping Harry under the elbows before the boy could fall. His skin was covered in a cold sheen of sweat. In one fluid movement, Remus dragged Harry backward into a chair and stepped in front. The boggart reacted at once, morphing into a bright, full moon.

'Riddikulus!' Remus called, brandishing his wand at the boggart. He forced it back into the trunk, locking the latch tightly.

'S – sorry,' said Harry, panting a bit as he wiped more sweat from his face. 'I couldn't do it.'

'Nonsense,' said Remus bracingly, coming back over to kneel beside the chair. 'It was only your first try, Harry. I would have been utterly astounded if you managed the spell that quickly. You did very well.'

Harry didn't answer, still wiping at his brow with shaking hands.

'Here,' Remus said, unwrapping a chocolate frog and holding it out to Harry. 'Eat it quickly, it'll help.'

Harry nodded gratefully, taking the chocolate. His tremors reduced immediately as the medicinal sweet revived him. 'Thanks,' he said, smiling back at Remus. 'I'm good. Let's go again.'

'Not just yet,' said Remus firmly. 'Give yourself a few minutes.'

Harry rolled his eyes but remained in the chair. Slowly, his colour started coming back.

'What memory did you choose, if you don't mind my asking?' Remus ventured.

'The first time I ever rode a broomstick,' said Harry, with a fond smile. 'Best feeling in the world – playing quidditch. I use flying in my Occlumency too.'

'A good start,' Remus acknowledged. 'Tell me, what is it that makes you happy about riding a broom?'

Harry considered a moment. 'Well, I guess it sort of… relaxes me. Not all the time, obviously. Quidditch matches are all adrenaline and excitement and everything. But just riding a broom – it's a sort of tonic, you know? Like all your worries get left back on the ground, and you can just enjoy yourself. It's peaceful.'

Remus smiled. 'I was never quite as at home on a broomstick as your father,' he admitted. 'But I can understand the sensation you're describing. I am not a particularly skilled occlumens myself, but I know enough about it to recognise that the calm, worry-free atmosphere you're describing is ideal for such meditations – you do not want distractions or high emotion to get in the way. However, the patronus charm will require a different sort of focus.'

Harry looked confused. 'What do you mean?' he asked in confusion. 'I thought you said to focus on a happy memory? That's one of the strongest I have.'

'Yes, I am sure it is,' said Remus patiently. 'But it is strong in a different sense. Perhaps "happiness" was too broad a descriptor… I do not necessarily mean a memory that holds a great deal of contentment. In conjuring a patronus, you are looking for emotions that nearly consume you in their intensity; a memory in which you felt ecstatic, overwhelming joy or the purest of love. Such a memory would not suit for creating a safe space for meditation, but it is a perfect manifestation of the feelings which a Dementor feeds on – and thus the exact thing necessary to form its counter. Many grown wizards, for example, use the birth of their child, the face of someone they love, or even a favourite meal.' He chuckled a bit. 'People can find their joy in many things, Harry, but that is the sort of emotion you should be reaching for here.'

'What is _your_ focus?' Harry asked curiously. 'I mean – if it's not too personal a question.' He added quickly.

Remus smiled. 'Since I asked you first, I suppose I can hardly refuse,' he noted. 'I don't always use the same focus. You do not have to, once you have the hang of the spell. Sometimes I use your parents' faces,' he admitted. Harry gave a wistful smile. 'I loved them, and that love provides a wonderful basis for a patronus. But now that they are gone, that focus is sometimes too difficult to reach – too clouded by sadness or longing. Most often, I use the day that I learned I would be allowed to come to Hogwarts.'

He felt his stomach clench a bit at his own phrasing, worried it might make Harry too curious… but Harry merely smiled wider, his own eyes gleaming.

'That was one of my favourite days ever,' he confessed. 'When I found out I would be leaving the Dursleys for good. Well, almost for good,' he amended with a grimace. 'My eleventh birthday… Hagrid came all the way out to some godforsaken hut in the middle of the sea that my uncle had dragged us to – he was trying to avoid my letters,' Harry added, when Remus looked his confusion.

'I suspect there is a longer story there,' Remus said, his eyes twinkling.

Harry laughed. 'You have no idea,' he said meaningfully. 'But anyway, he told me I was a wizard, and he took me away next morning – into Diagon Alley to buy all my things. It was the most amazing day of my life. Everything was so new and fascinating – this whole world I'd never known about, with a place just for me. No more cupboard, no more Dudley… maybe even a chance at friends. I'd never been so excited in my life.'

Remus clamped down on the many questions that popped troublingly into his mind at Harry's little recollection… this was not the time. And he was, quite arguably, not the person.

Instead, he forced another smile to his lips.

'That sounds like the perfect sort of memory, Harry,' he said.

'Can I give it a try then, with that one instead?' Harry begged, already hopping up off the chair.

Remus hesitated. 'Are you sure you feel up to it?' he asked doubtfully. Harry was still paler than normal, and he looked rather drawn despite the early afternoon hour. 'There's no need to rush anything – we have months of holiday left to us.'

'No, I want to go again,' said Harry firmly. 'Just once more.'

'Alright,' Remus agreed, though it was against his better judgment. 'But just the once, or both Minerva and Madam Pomfrey will be out for my blood.'

Harry laughed a bit as he drew his wand. 'Don't worry,' he said with a careless smile that reminded Remus heavily of James. 'I'll protect you from them if it comes to it.'

'Curb your cheek and concentrate,' said Remus, grinning back. 'On the count of three. One, two, three.' He drew back the lid once more, and the boggart-Dementor loomed menacingly above the boy again.

'Expecto Patronum!' Harry cried, waving his wand determinedly at the looming black shape. Remus saw a wisp of dark grey smoke shoot out the end. It was not enough to stop the boggart's advance, but the creature did slow slightly.

'Excellent, Harry!' he said in approval. 'Keep trying!'

'Expecto Patronum!' Harry called firmly again. The grey smoke issued once more, though Harry's forehead was breaking out in a sweat again. 'Expect-'

But Harry was distracted as the door to Remus' study was suddenly flung ajar. Harry and Remus both whipped around to see Severus standing on the threshold of the office, taking in the scene with an expression of utter shock.

Remus whirled away just as quickly to look back to Harry, but he could already tell that the momentary lapse in attention had cost whatever chance the boy might have had. Harry was ghostly pale and swaying on his feet, his eyes rolling back in his head as his knees gave way. With a snarled oath, Severus dove past him to catch the collapsing child, while Remus stepped quickly between Harry and the boggart-Dementor.

' _Riddikulus_!' Remus said firmly, as the boggart morphed into the full moon before him. With some effort, he forced the creature back toward the open trunk, slamming the lid firmly shut.

Severus was shaking Harry now, trying to bring him round.

'Potter!' the Potions master growled. He sounded absolutely furious. Though he was repeatedly shaking Harry by the shoulders, the boy had yet to open his eyes. Remus hurried to help.

'Fetch some hot chocolate, you fool!' Severus spat, as Remus attempted to take over his efforts to rouse Harry. The Potions master did not relinquish the child to his hands, but instead gathered him quickly from the ground and hauled him up onto the small sofa, still trying to wake him.

'Fifi!' Remus called. A little house-elf appeared at once, her overlarge eyes widening further upon catching sight of the scene.

'Master Remus,' Fifi squeaked, bowing in greeting while her eyes remained fixed in horror on the sofa.

'Bring a mug of hot chocolate, if you would,' Remus said quickly.

The elf nodded, popping out of sight and back again before Remus could do more than blink. He took the warm mug with a muttered word of thanks, and hurried back over to the pair on the sofa.

'What the _hell_ were you thinking, Lupin?!' Severus snarled. He had conjured an icy flannel and was attempting to rouse Harry by blotting the cold against his skin. Remus was not sure this was wise; Harry was already shivering. He put out a hand to cease the man's ministrations, but Severus drew his away at once, looking murderous.

'Just give him a moment, Severus,' Remus said, smoothing the fringe off Harry's face. 'He'll come round. It wasn't truly a Dementor – the effects will not be as severe. He's had this reaction before.'

'You are as reckless as ever, Lupin!' Severus growled in reply. 'To task him with such a complex spell at his age – most grown wizards cannot manage it, and many with more talent than Potter!'

'Harry has already shown remarkable progress in defensive magic,' Remus reasoned calmly. 'I assure you I had my own reservations, but he is quite a determined student.'

Severus gave a mirthless laugh. 'He is a _child_ , Lupin! Headstrong and foolhardy and quite incapable of making rational decisions! The headmaster will have your hide for this.'

'Albus is aware of the lessons I had planned for Harry,' Remus said, still calm. 'He knew there would be risks. It was unfortunate timing that you happened to arrive just as he was making the attempt, but –'

'It was _foolish_ timing to teach him such advanced magic when he has already spent the morning in learning to cast wandlessly!' Severus retorted. 'His defences will be down for some time yet, and he hasn't the energy for such imprudent –'

'What do you mean, spent the morning casting wandlessly?' Remus interrupted, growing more concerned himself. 'And stop with that,' he added, swatting at Severus' hand again where the latter was still attempting to dab the icy water across Harry's face. 'You'll freeze him to death.'

'You can warm him when he's conscious!' Severus snapped back. 'And he spent the morning in wandless lessons with me. I _told_ him he was not to attempt anything strenuous this afternoon.'

'Well, he did not relay the message,' said Remus honestly. Severus rolled his eyes.

'He is an arrogant brat with no sense of self-preservation, Lupin!' he spat. 'He is not yet _thirteen_ , much less thirty-three! Be the adult.'

'This is not _my_ fault!' Remus argued back.

And really, it wasn't. How was he to know what Severus had got up to with Harry in his lessons that morning? 'You ought to have sent word yourself, if you were so concerned about it.'

'I was coming up to tell –'

''fessor?' came a hoarse voice between them, and Severus broke off his rant, jumping up from the sofa and across the study so quickly, he might have apparated.

'Harry!' Remus sighed, relieved as he scooted in to take Severus' place by Harry's head. 'No, don't sit up just yet,' he said gently, as the boy looked up at his face in embarrassment and made to rise. 'Drink some of this first.' He handed Harry the mug of steaming chocolate, holding it steady for him as he sipped. Some colour slowly began to seep back into his pale cheeks.

'What happened?' Harry asked, when Remus had coaxed half the contents into him. 'Did – did I pass out again?'

'Yes,' Remus admitted. 'But you did very well, Harry. You managed to –'

'You managed to act exactly as I could have predicted, you ignorant child!' Severus all but bellowed from across the room. He had leaned himself up against the tall cabinet in the corner, arms crossed before him as he glowered down at the boy on the sofa.

'Severus, perhaps this could –' Remus started in a tone of forced reason, but the Potions master silenced him with a ferocious glare.

'No, it could not wait, Lupin,' Severus contradicted, as though he had read Remus' mind. In contrast to his previous roar, his voice was now as low and venomous as Remus had ever heard it. Harry, still supine on the sofa, shivered. Remus was sure it was not from lingering chill. He felt the boy shifting slightly as Severus advanced toward them.

'I told you, Potter, what would happen if you pushed yourself too far, did I not?' he asked coldly.

'Yes, but, profess –'

'I _warned_ you that you must take it easy this afternoon, to allow your core the time it needs to recover?'

'Sir, you did but I –'

'But you disobeyed me, exactly as I could have guessed. As impulsive and conceited as your father. Did you think I give these instructions for my own amusement?'

'No sir,' Harry said quickly. 'Of course I didn't, but –'

'Or do you merely consider yourself so superior that you could not –'

'I'd have been _fine_ if you hadn't startled me!' Harry cut in angrily.

' _Do_ _not_ take that tone with –'

'Is this quite productive?' Remus said loudly, trying to call an end to the row. Snape turned his glare in his direction instead.

'I wondered when we'd hear from you,' he spat maliciously. 'And _yes_ , Lupin. _Someone_ needs to pound the message into Potter's thick skull.'

'I'm not thick!' said Harry testily. Severus scoffed in disbelief.

'Drink the rest of the chocolate, Harry,' said Remus wearily.

'I don't –'

' _Now_!' Severus barked. Harry pressed the mug back to his lips at once, his cheeks reddening.

'I'm sorry,' he said quietly, once he had drained the last of the drink. 'I didn't mean to cause such a problem. I didn't really think –'

' _That_ is clear,' said Severus angrily. 'You have been given the privilege this summer of studying several very old and demanding areas of magic. If you cannot show a modicum of maturity in obeying your instructors and recognising the responsibilities and limitations that will go along with these lessons, you will cease to have them. Or, at least, you will cease to have them with _me_.'

Harry paled a bit. 'No – I, you're right, professor. I wasn't thinking clearly. I won't do it again, I promise.'

Severus fixed him with a hard glare. 'Then let this be your only warning, Potter,' he said seriously. 'You ought to know by now that I detest repeating myself. Lupin,' he nodded at Remus, and turned for the door.

'Harry, I –'

'I know who the woman is, Remus,' Harry whispered across him, when Severus' back was to them at last. 'I could tell this time, when I heard her. It was my mum. My mum, right before Voldemort killed her.'

'Oh, Harry,' said Remus sadly, putting a hand on his knee.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Severus' shoulders stiffen, and he turned halfway round in the doorway. The Potions master's face was inscrutable as he stared back at Harry, his eyes narrowed, but not quite glaring anymore. There was a long, tense moment, as Harry looked curiously back at Severus.

'I shall send an elf with an invigoration draught,' said Severus at last in a stiff voice. 'Do not dare to complain, Potter!' he added in a growl, for Harry had opened his mouth to protest. 'You will take it. Unless you would prefer I send Madam Pomfrey up here to place you on restriction for a week!'

'No, sir,' Harry said quickly. 'I'll take the potion.'

'And then you will rest _quietly_ until dinner,' Severus added immediately. 'I'll not have you unprepared for Potions tomorrow because you've been so supremely foolish this afternoon.'

'But –' Harry began, but Severus shot him a glare so murderous that Harry clammed up at once. He merely nodded instead.

'Verbal answers to me, Potter!' Severus snapped.

'Yes, sir,' Harry agreed with chagrin.

'Thank you, Severus,' Remus put in, with a small smile. 'Harry can stay in my quarters for now, if you don't mind sending the potion up here.'

Severus gave a predatory leer. 'Don't thank me, Lupin. I'll leave it to _you_ to explain this mess to the headmaster and Minerva.'


	10. Poisonous Toadstools Don't Change

**A/N:** Ok everyone, Chapter 10! It's very _very_ late (or, perhaps more accurately, quite early) … but I couldn't sleep until I got this up and posted for everyone. Luckily, I've taken the next two days off so I can have a lie-in J Sorry this instalment is a little later coming than I expected – I was unexpectedly quite busy at work these past few days. It is also a little bit shorter than I anticipated, as I decided to cut a scene until next time for fluidity's sake. In any case – enjoy! A few review responses below of course – and a huge thank you to all who read and reviewed!

 **Alicia Olivia Mirza:** (response to Chapters 8 & 9) I'm glad you enjoyed these chapters – and thank you for your reviews! Yes, Albus and Minerva for now… but I'm not sure that's what Harry _wants_ to stick with (we see some of his awkwardness/hesitation here). So perhaps that will develop further in future. Wandless magic _and_ patronus charms… well, we've certainly seen from Snape's reaction how foolish _that_ decision was. We've yet to see how Albus and Minerva will react, or how Harry's summer schedule will play out in the aftermath… but I think you'll find some of that explored in the coming instalment. Enjoy chapter 10!

 **SpringRoll** : (response to Chapter 9) I'm so pleased you liked the chapters so much! There's a LOT of Severus's different personality facets in there, and I'm glad you enjoyed that part of it. Certainly when Sirius gets there, things will likely get very, VERY muddled. Should be interesting… And I tip my hat to your recognition of the mandrake leaf reference as well – not many would have recognised that as a detail that is actually canon from JKR. I hope you enjoy the next instalment. Thank you for your review!

 **Nurmengard** : (response to Chapter 9): Thank you for your review! Yes – we will _definitely_ see Grindelwald again before the summer comes to a close. Don't forget – it has only really been a few weeks or so since Albus paid his last visit (with the diary in tow near the end of term) – his second visit since the start of the year, after avoiding the man for nearly fifty years… we must take it slowly. But, then again, Gellert certainly left Albus with much to consider at the end of their last encounter – and Albus is not the type to forget _those_ revelations in a hurry. Nor is he keen to confide the horcrux revelations in anyone else – we've already seen him have an opportunity to do so with Snape, and (thus far) he has resisted. I think in the next few chapters we will get a glimpse into the continuation of that storyline.

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 10: Poisonous Toadstools Don't Change Their Spots**

Severus meant the threat when he gave it. He really did.

He wanted Lupin to drag his foolish, chastened arse right up to Albus and Minerva, and explain how his reckless enthusiasm had overridden his sensibilities, and nearly done their Golden Boy serious injury. He wanted to watch the man stutter through his remorseful apology. He wanted Minerva to hex the wolf so badly, he'd be lucky to see the next cycle of the moon. He wanted Dumbledore to throw him out of the damn castle. He wanted to stand back and watch the fallout, without having to open his own mouth.

In theory.

In reality… Severus just couldn't resist. Patience, after all, was never a quality he'd been renowned for.

So he headed straight up to the headmaster's quarters upon leaving Lupin and Potter, pausing only for a moment in the corridor to send an elf down for the promised draught. In his opinion, the walk did wonders for the head of steam he'd been working toward since catching sight of Potter from the doorway to the office, fanning the flames until Severus thought he could properly set fire to the next person who dared cross him with the strength of his glare alone.

He gave a cursory knock on the door, but burst in before Albus could even offer an answer. He was lucky – the headmaster was alone at his desk when Severus barged inside.

'You need to chain your wolf!' he barked without preamble, dark eyes blazing.

To his maddening disbelief, the headmaster merely looked amused, setting his handsome eagle feather quill into a pot of violet ink and leaning back more comfortably into his chair.

'Severus,' he said in a placating voice, 'We've spoken on this subject before. Remus is a perfectly qualified, rational man. He is an asset to the school. And his relationship with Harry is –'

'Is going to ensure the foolish brat meets an early death!' Severus cut across him angrily.

Albus' gaze turned steely. 'We have been over this,' he said, caution in every syllable. 'Remus is not aiding Sirius Black, nor would he ever.'

Severus actually growled in frustration, striding across the room. He slammed both his hands on the headmaster's polished desk. The force of his blow sent the violet ink pot tumbling off the edge, marring the handsome carpet. Fawkes gave an indignant squawk of protest from his golden perch.

Albus gave him an admonitory glare as he righted the mess upon the floor.

'I am not speaking of Black, though we are not in agreement there, either' Severus spat contemptuously, refusing to be dissuaded. 'Lupin, however, can do quite enough damage on his own. I have just come from his _den,_ where his lessons were sending Potter into a state of collapse.'

'What are you talking about, Severus?' Albus asked, though a hint of worry coloured his tone now.

'Potter spent the better part of three hours the morning learning to harness his magical core,' Severus began.

'And did you get there?' the headmaster interrupted, looking interested.

'We did,' Severus said drily. 'Like harvesting dragon heartstring from a live beast – but he was successful in the end,' he said ungraciously. 'He was, as undoubtedly you must realise, fairly exhausted when I called an end for the day.'

'Naturally,' Albus agreed with a nod. He was beaming. 'But I knew he could do it. What excellent news!'

'Did you also know,' asked Severus with a steely tone, 'That Lupin was intending to _teach_ the boy the _patronus charm_ this very afternoon? After I _explicitly_ impressed upon Potter the dangers in overuse of magic after such a trying tutorial?'

Albus frowned again. 'I knew that Remus intended to discuss warding off Dementors with Harry, yes,' he said slowly. 'As did you, Severus, as I relayed the information over the week-end. But I am quite certain that neither Remus nor you would have selected this afternoon as the appropriate hour to begin the attempt, if the morning was such a trial.'

'I would not,' Severus agreed huffily. 'And knowing the brat's absolute inability to do _anything_ he is told; I should have seen to speaking with Lupin myself. An oversight I shall not repeat in future. But even so, I was not aware I was contending with such an _utter_ imbecile masquerading as some imitation of a teacher. For, you see, _I_ was unaware that Lupin's ingenious scheme for simulating a Dementor attack was to utilise a boggart as some sort of macabre incarnation of Potter's worst nightmare, and set said creature lose in hopes the boy would produce a charm to repel it. Were you labouring in similar ignorance, Albus?'

He felt a grim sense of satisfaction as Albus' face grew paler. 'Is Harry alright?' asked the headmaster immediately.

'For now,' Severus admitted grudgingly. 'But I make no promises if you continue to allow that insipid fool to continue.'

'Remus did not know,' Albus said defensively. ' _I_ did not think of it. Remus' scheme for the boggart was not entirely rash – I myself thought it rather a good idea; though I do admit I had not anticipated he would move to practical simulation quite so quickly. And it should not have been today, of all days… I should have spoken to Remus myself; you should have –'

'The _boy_ should have!' Severus snarled. 'He was as aware as any of the dangers in proceeding with such spellwork. I could not have been clearer in my instruction. But that does _not_ excuse Lupin's imprudence. He is attempting to teach the boy magic far too advanced for his age.'

'Are _you_ not attempting the same, Severus?' Albus asked shrewdly. 'Most would consider wandless magic far too advanced for a thirteen-year-old child. Twelve, really, at the moment.'

'Hardly comparable, Albus,' Severus scoffed dismissively. ' _I_ am doing exactly as we discussed – I am teaching him in wandless magic, which may well prove to be an integral part of his education and a tool for later. You yourself thought it a wise idea. Lupin is playing with fire – the boy has no need to learn the patronus charm at this stage, and the instruction will bring nothing but problems for us all. He should _not_ be attempting such spells after exhausting his magical core in wandless tutorials, and he is unlikely to have success at any rate, which can only compound the profligacy. I insist you put an end to it at once.'

'I'm disinclined to acquiesce,' the headmaster insisted. 'Harry's abilities in defensive magic are well beyond his years – exceptional, even. Remus intimated only this morning that he has already shown the beginnings of success with the patronus. And I gave my consent to that study, just as heartily as I granted your own request.'

Severus glared, but did not reply. He felt the taste of bile sting his throat.

'You are perfectly right to be concerned that we are overtaxing him to compound wandless practise and advanced defensive lessons in one afternoon, of course,' Albus continued. 'In fact, such concern is really quite touching, Severus,' he added.

Severus gave a disgusted noise. 'I tire of repeating myself,' he said, 'But my _concern_ , Albus, stretches only so far as it would seem _all_ our miserable fates are tied to the boy's success or failure… and my own promises. And yet, as ever, it would seem that _I_ must be the one to step in where all others in this castle appear to have averted their eyes for the sake of indulgence.'

Albus' own eyes were twinkling. 'Whatever the case may be,' he continued, wisely dropping the disagreement, 'I see no reason why a simple adjustment to the timetable would not suffice as a solution for everyone. Harry could work with me in the afternoons on days where he is in wandless tutorials in the mornings; or we could reverse the day so he meets with you after luncheon.'

'I don't want the brat when he's half-dead from the Dementors' effects,' Severus complained. 'Nor will he be much use to you, or Minerva, after one of those _lessons_ ,' he griped.

Albus looked anxious again. 'Was it quite as bad as all that?' he asked with a frown.

'Yes,' Severus insisted grimly. 'You did not see the child, Albus. The boggart may not retain the full powers of a true Dementor, but it is quite enough to knock Potter unconscious for several minutes and drain him of energy. Even without the after effects of the wandless magic, I doubt his reaction would have been much reduced. The wolf himself admitted he had a similar episode before. If you are insistent in letting the pair of them persist in this reckless endeavour, Lupin will need to keep his allotted afternoon placement.'

Albus considered a moment. 'Very well,' he said at last. 'Then, perhaps, we shall keep Harry in Potions on Monday and Wednesday mornings, Transfiguration and Charms with Minerva straight after lunch, and Defence in the later portion of the afternoon. You can teach him in wandless magic on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and he can be with me those afternoons.'

'And Fridays?' Severus pressed. Albus stared over the tops of his spectacles at him, a half-smile on his lips.

'I would prefer to give him _some_ semblance of a holiday,' he insisted. 'I'll leave Fridays for his amusement. I daresay he'll need it, with such a busy week.'

Severus rolled his eyes. Time Potter was not occupied, in his opinion, meant time the insufferable brat was likely to spend getting himself into far too much mischief. 'He takes twice as many lessons during the year,' he pointed out.

Albus smiled in full now. 'Ah, but only half as many with you,' he countered, with twinkling eyes. Severus glared – not nearly as amused.

'Have it your way,' he said, crossing his arms before him. 'But do not expect me to lessen my expectations of the boy.'

'I would not dare to suggest it, Severus,' said Albus with an irritating wink. 'Did you leave Harry quite well, or should I worry that Minerva will have my head?'

Severus glowered. 'He should be recovered enough by dinner,' he said dryly.

'And Remus?' Albus pressed, with a knowing look.

'Will no doubt feel the weight of his own misjudgement,' Severus said, unrepentant. 'I'll leave you then, headmaster,' he added, disappointed at the lack of explosion.

He doubted that Minerva would be quite so nonchalant.

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'Remus Lupin, have you _quite_ taken leave of your senses!'

Any sound of Minerva throwing open the door was thoroughly drowned by her shriek. One look at her livid expression told Remus that Severus had clearly shared the events of the afternoon. Remus jumped, nearly scalding himself as he tipped over his tea in shock.

On the sofa, Harry stirred, awakening at the shrill tone just as suddenly as if he'd been doused with the steaming beverage himself. He scrambled up to a seated position at once, following Remus' wary gaze toward the doorframe.

'Have you _any_ idea,' Minerva continued, 'What might have happened today? What in Merlin's name were you _thinking_? Harry might have –'

Harry seemed to understand the situation in an instant. He shook his head as he gazed imploringly at Minerva's furious face. 'It wasn't Remus' –'

'Not a word from you, Harry Potter!' Minerva chastised, drowning Harry's explanation before it could take off. She slammed the door shut as she crossed the threshold into the office, sending the portraits on the wall trembling and their occupants muttering indignantly. One wispy little old witch actually fled her frame in alarm.

Remus could see Harry take a visible gulp.

'Of all the ridiculous, reckless ways to teach! Letting him cast at a boggart!'

'Albus was aware of the –'

'I do not care _what_ Albus was or was not aware of!' Minerva ranted, her hair coming down from its elegant bun. 'Rest assured I will be having a word with _him_ next!'

'I take it you've spoken with Severus,' Remus said calmly. 'But I promise you, Minerva, it wasn't–'

'It was _my_ fault, ma'am,' Harry put in, rising from the sofa. 'I was supposed to tell –'

'Sit down, before you fall down!' Minerva barked back. 'You look dead on your feet as it is.'

Harry bristled at once, though he returned to the sofa. 'I'm not a toddler!' he snapped.

'You are not an _adult_ either!' Minerva retorted, fire blazing in her eyes. 'And those responsible for your welfare should not forget it!' she added, turning her ire back to Remus. He bowed his head, repentant. It was, more or less, what Severus had charged him with.

'We have all been a little too hasty today,' he admitted. 'It will not happen again.'

'No, it will not,' Minerva agreed. 'Because I am calling an end to these lessons at once.'

'You _can't_!' Harry gasped, horrified.

'I most certainly can,' Minerva disagreed. 'You are here under our care and supervision. We are responsible for your wellbeing. I will not have you jeopardising your health and magic by engaging in such foolish activity! You may continue studying defensive spells with Remus as the headmaster permitted, but you will not be practising on any more boggart-Dementors, and we will _not_ be having a repetition of this afternoon.'

'Minerva, surely there is another way to proceed,' Remus put in, before Harry could dig himself farther into the grave. 'An adjustment to the schedule, perhaps, or some other sort of compromise.'

Minerva's nostrils were flared; her lips pursed so hard they were nearly bloodless. Remus did not think he had ever seen her quite so angry. It was a long moment before she replied.

'I need until dinner to sort through this mess,' she said at last. 'I shall discuss it with Albus.'

She swept from the office again without another word.

Harry slumped back onto the cushions, his head in his hands.

'Don't worry,' Remus said in comfort. 'She'll calm down.'

Harry shook his head, his face still hidden. 'She won't,' he countered. 'It's all my fault, and now I've ruined everything. I should have listened to Snape in the first place – I don't know _why_ I was so stupid!'

'You should have told me,' Remus agreed, seriously. 'But the fault is not entirely yours. I could see that you were not really up for the second attempt, but I allowed my own excitement to cloud my better judgment. Severus and Minerva were both correct – I am the teacher; you are the pupil. I should have stepped in and stopped things before they got out of control.'

Harry rubbed his hands down his face, looking miserable. 'I was afraid you wouldn't let me try if I told you what I'd been up to with Snape,' he admitted quietly.

'I would not have,' Remus said sternly. 'But we would have rescheduled. It is very difficult at your age – I remember. You feel as if everyone around you is making all the decisions about your life, and sometimes that they are acting deliberately over-cautious. But we all must learn where our limits lie, Harry. Sometimes, the only way we truly know is when we push beyond them. You are hardly the first to do so, I promise you; but you would be remiss if you did not learn from the experience.'

'Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure I'll remember in future,' said Harry dryly.

Remus chuckled. 'I daresay you'll have plenty to remind you, if you can't,' he joked. Harry gave a weak smile.

'Well,' he added, looking a bit more cheerful. 'Albus must have taken our side, at least. That's something, I suppose.'

Remus cocked his head curiously. 'Why would you say that?'

Harry smirked in earnest. 'Because I've only ever seen Minerva that furious when he didn't agree with her on something.'

Remus smiled too; if the headmaster was behind continuing the lessons, he felt sure they would be permitted to proceed. 'Take the potion,' he said, gesturing to the coffee table where Severus' invigoration draught was set out. 'You'd already fallen asleep when Mina dropped it by, and I didn't want to wake you.'

Harry sighed, but downed the little phial quickly. 'Blech!' he grimaced, pulling a face. 'Speaking of people making all of my decisions - they're _always_ making me take these horrid things. And why do they always have to be so disgusting?' he complained.

'Believe me,' Remus said darkly, 'You can have no idea.'

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The heady and slightly metallic taste of hot blood was strong in his mouth as Sirius ripped through the hare's carcass with his teeth, halting the animal's fight. He'd been lucky to spot the animal in the underbrush – it made a welcome change from day after day's foraging for edible berries and the occasional vole or polecat. He'd eschewed chancing village dustbins too often since he'd crossed the Scottish border, and the lack of regular Muggle discards had heavily impacted his ability to eat. He doubted he'd even been this starved in Azkaban.

Still, he would not give up – no matter how thin and exhausted he became. His effort, after all, was about to pay off.

Sirius laid down among the brambles to pick his way through the meat of the hare, savouring the sight before him even more than his first substantive meal in two days. In the distance, high on the hill, the great silhouette of Hogwarts castle pierced the deep red of the sky like an avenging angel.

He was almost there.

He finished off the unlucky animal, sucking its bones clear through to the marrow. In the beginning, he had never enjoyed eating in the raw. There was something heathen and foreign in fresh meat dripping with blood from a kill… but in time, he'd grown to love it. The trick was to let the animal instinct rule his human mind; bask in the visceral _naturalness_ of the hunt. It was second nature to him now.

Sirius wiped the last remnants of his meal from the fur along his jaw, brushing his head through the grass. This next part, he knew, would be particularly difficult.

There were bound to be Dementors all around the castle, even if they hadn't determined that was where he was headed. The Ministry would have insisted on it, he was certain. Especially if Harry was there. Dumbledore would have warded the gates to protect him too; even if he managed to sneak past the Azkaban guards, he doubted whether he could get into the grounds through the official entrance.

That left the lake, or the forest.

He could try and swim it… but there were all sorts in the Hogwarts lake, and those creatures would not be so easy to fool. They might even attack him. No… the Forbidden Forest was the better option. Dementors would be a possibility there too, but he doubted their power once he was within the trees themselves. That forest was full of old magic, and he knew it well. How many nights had he roamed the woods – on and off the paths? There would be plenty of animals and edible plants… he could make something of a camp there, until the traitor returned to the castle. And he could sneak into the grounds – could try to see Harry… could make _absolutely_ sure he was alright.

And so, slinking like a wraith through the gathering darkness, Sirius made his way toward the trees.

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'Do not bother taking out your book today,' Snape said without looking up, as Harry entered the Potions classroom the following morning. He was scratching away at a long sheaf of parchment, his greasy curtain of hair hiding most of the writing. Curious, Harry sidled a bit closer. Snape sent the parchment rolling into a scroll with a flourished wave of his hand, looking up at Harry's face with a scowl.

'Sir?' asked Harry, confused as he backed quickly into his usual desk. With a small thrill of dread, he wondered whether Snape was intending to test him again in retaliation for Harry's lack of discipline the day before.

All in all, Harry thought he'd got off rather easy in the aftermath of the debacle. Minerva was still cross with him and Remus at dinner, but she was somewhat less furious than she'd been at the outset. The headmaster had brief words with him outside the Great Hall, but he had seemed to feel that Harry had been chastised enough for the mistake. Albus had also discussed a new timetable with Harry after pudding. Harry grudgingly consented to the lesson allotment – although he resented the significant decrease in free time he foresaw in the schedule. It was _much_ more rigid than his study the previous summer had been. Hermione would probably approve…

He ought to write to her soon.

'Because I am not convinced you can be trusted around a cauldron today,' Snape continued in a jeering tone that brought Harry abruptly out of his wandering thoughts, 'And because I am running low on several key ingredients which I shall be needing in the coming weeks, we will be engaging in a different sort of activity this morning.'

'What's that, sir?' asked Harry, feeling even more nervous.

Snape set the quill he'd been using aside and reached under the desk. He emerged with several massive straw baskets, which he sent flying over the gap. Harry scooted his chair backward as the containers skittered to a halt at his feet.

'Foraging,' said Snape simply, with a satisfied smirk.

'Foraging?' Harry repeated. 'Foraging for what, exactly, sir?'

Snape flicked his wand, and a scroll unfurled itself in front of Harry's nose. To his trepidation, the unrolling took quite a long time, finishing with a flourish as the parchment stretched a full two feet.

'Can't you buy potions ingredients, sir?' Harry asked, frowning as he snatched the floating scroll from his line of vision and squinting down at the many inches of cramped writing. Snape scowled.

'Of course I _can_ buy them, impertinent brat!' he snapped. 'I _choose_ not to. Most fungi and herbs are far superior freshly harvested from their natural habitats – as you would know if you bothered to go beyond the bare minimum of required reading for my lesson. I purchase most of the animal-based ingredients, which often must be imported. Professor Sprout provides some of the non-native species through the Hogwarts greenhouses. But I prefer naturally-grown specimens wherever possible.'

'And we're going to be able to find _all_ of these in a few hours?' Harry asked doubtfully, surveying the length of the parchment again.

'No,' said Snape, with a slightly evil smirk. 'I very much doubt we shall find everything this morning. But you shall be returning to the task this afternoon after your lesson with Lupin, and again after dinner this evening, if you haven't completed the list. That should be sufficient time.'

Harry felt a hot surge of anger. 'It's summer hols!' he complained. 'You can't keep me doing this all night!'

'I assure you I can,' Snape said, smirking wider. 'You may think of it as… summer detention. A punishment for your deliberate disregard for my instruction yesterday. Perhaps you will learn something from the task. You can refuse, I suppose… But if you do, our lessons are at an end.'

Harry glared right back at Snape, still furious. He should have _known_ the evil git would lord the wandless lessons over his head all summer; use it to force Harry into some perversion of indentured servitude. But then again, Harry hadn't expected to bask in the man's good graces after the events of the day before. And he was pretty sure Remus and Minerva – and maybe even Albus – would support Snape's 'punishment' as well-earned, if Harry complained to them.

He sighed in resignation. 'Right,' he grumbled. 'Where are we foraging then, professor?'

Snape stared at him, as though Harry was being deliberately thick. 'The forest,' he replied.

Harry swallowed hard. He'd never had a particularly enjoyable experience in the forbidden forest. He had wandered through the very outskirts with Hagrid a few times last summer, but he'd only been deep in the trees twice before. Both times, he'd nearly been killed.

 _At least this time_ , he reasoned to himself, _Snape will be with you_.

The thought did not give him much comfort.

Twenty minutes later, Harry struggled to keep pace behind Snape while balancing the many baskets in his arms as they approached the edge of the trees. He hoped the Potions master would not take them off the path before he could unburden his load – he was likely to do himself serious injury as long as he couldn't see his feet.

Harry's luck held out. Snape led him in silence up the path for a solid thirty minutes, until they were so deep inside the forest that Harry could barely see the sunlight flickering through the canopy of leaves and needles above. The trees were alive with the quiet sounds of summer: birds calling to one another from the branches, the hum of a passing insect, and the occasional rustle of a scurrying creature. It would have been beautiful and quite peaceful, if Harry could only set aside the prickle on the back of his neck.

'Set them here,' Snape called from up ahead as they entered a sunnier patch of footpath. Harry shifted the baskets to see the professor indicating a long, flat rock alongside the forest path. The increase in light found quick explanation, as Harry realised they had come to the edge of a small meadow. He did as he was told, and Snape selected two of the smaller containers.

'What shall I do, sir?' Harry asked, as Snape handed him one of the baskets.

Snape pointed a long finger at the base of a large oak tree, just at the edge of the meadow nearest to them. 'You ought to know these by now,' he said, indicating a number of innocent-appearing toadstools spread among the detritus of dirt and leaves.

Harry stared at the greenish-white mushrooms for a few moments, but nothing came to him. 'Er –'

'Amanita phalloides,' Snape said curtly, before he could offer a guess. 'Also known as Destroying Angel, or Death cap. Probably the deadliest of all toadstools native to Europe, and the central ingredient in the Death Cap Draught, one of the most potent poisons in existence. Even half a single mushroom can lead to hepatic and renal failure when the toadstool is accidentally ingested… and most of its victims never realise their folly until it is far too late, for the symptoms of poisoning do not appear for six to twenty-four hours after the fungus is ingested. They think, at first, that they are suffering from flu – the symptoms are that of common food poisoning or mild influenza. After a few days they often improve, and the victim believes he is recovered. Meanwhile, the latent toxins are slowly eating his organs from the inside out. It is much harder to survive the second phase.'

Harry's eyes widened, and Snape gave a small, satisfied smile. 'Oh yes,' he said softly. 'Everything about the toadstool is intoxicating: its sweet-smelling scent, its innocent appearance, even the taste of death cap is supposed to be a great delicacy – the kiss of death itself. It is often ingested merely by accident – for the spores bear a distinct resemblance to more innocent fungi… but then, ignorance and good intention are often silent killers.'

Snape continued to smirk at him for a moment, his black eyes glittering. He nodded his head toward the patch of toadstools.

'Fill the basket,' he said, with an abrupt return to his normal voice. 'There ought to be more along the edge of the wood. They flourish well among oak trees.'

'You – you want me to _pick_ them?' Harry asked, incredulous. 'When you just told me they were _poisonous_?'

Snape arched an eyebrow. 'Yes,' he said, simply. 'Wear your dragonhide gloves – some strains of the amatoxin have been known to penetrate the skin.' He made to turn away into the meadow, but Harry wasn't having it.

'Come off it – I'm not helping you _poison_ someone!' he said firmly, crossing his arms in front of his chest and giving Snape a glare of his own. Snape turned back to face him, black eyes flashing.

'You will do as you are told!' he snapped back. 'And do not be a fool, Potter,' he added with a mocking smirk. 'If I desired to kill by poison, I can promise you it would be completely untraceable – least of all by you.'

'What do you want with them, then, if you aren't using them to brew a poison?' Harry challenged.

'You tell me, Potter,' Snape countered, surveying him with the same sort of intensity he always did in regular lessons. 'What is Golpalott's first law?'

'Er –' Harry racked his brains. It had definitely been _mentioned_ in Potions before… but they hadn't studied brewing poisons or their antidotes in any great depth yet.

Snape rolled his eyes. 'Two years of magical education have clearly not been wasted on you, boy,' he jeered. '"The antidote to any given poison will always have a base in the poison itself,"' he quoted. ' _All_ antidotes and anti-venoms have a measure of the poison they counter within them, Potter. You cannot defeat the killer without understanding what it is made of; what it is that makes it deadly.'

'Right,' groused Harry, pulling on his dragonhide gloves. He set to work digging up the toadstools. It wasn't particularly taxing work – the fungi came out of the ground easily enough, and Snape was perfectly right in predicting their abundance. It took less than fifteen minutes to fill his basket.

Harry brought the harvest back to the flat rock, where Snape slide a lid on top to keep the mushrooms covered. Harry saw that another covered basket sat on the stone already. He reached out a hand to peek under the lid, but Snape slapped his arm down.

'Ouch!' Harry complained, rubbing at the slight sting in his hand. 'I was only going to have a look.'

'Then you would have paid for your impertinence,' Snape said waspishly, 'As the basket is full of nettles.'

Harry made a face. 'What's next, then?' he asked, gesturing to the long list in Snape's hand. The Potions master perused it for a moment.

'Wormwood,' he decided. 'What are its uses, Potter?'

Harry smirked. He actually knew this one. They'd used wormwood before – and Snape had asked him about it in his very first Potions lesson. 'Wormwood is used as an infusion in the Draught of Living Death, and in powdered form in the Shrinking Solution,' he answered promptly.

'And?' Snape prompted. Harry hesitated. He didn't know any additional uses. Snape rolled his eyes. 'The answer should be obvious – even if you haven't brewed the potions yet,' he chastised. 'What are the qualities of wormwood?'

'Er –' Harry thought for a moment. 'It's … it's quite bitter,' he said tentatively. 'Because it's high in quinine. That's what makes it important in Living Death, because high doses of quinine like are in the infusion cause somnolence. It can also be poisonous if the concentration is too high, which is why Living Death isn't studied until N.E.W.T. level at Hogwarts.'

' _And_?' Snape prompted again.

'I don't know, sir,' Harry said in defeat.

'Wormwood also has significant hallucinogenic properties,' Snape explained brusquely. 'In milder doses, it can cause a false sense of bliss. It is therefore one of the central ingredients in the Elixir to Induce Euphoria, as well as several mind-altering brews. Measures of powdered wormwood are also key ingredients in some types of healing potions, including variants of calming draught, antipyretics and stomach soothing solutions.'

'Right,' said Harry, with a resigned nod. Snape thrust another basket at him.

'There is a significant smattering of wormwood in this meadow,' he said with a nod at the grass behind him. 'I trust you can recognise the plant?'

'Yes, sir,' said Harry, taking the basket. Snape sent him away with another irritated jerk of the head, and Harry picked his way carefully through the tall grass, stopping occasionally to pull the stubborn wormwood plants up by the roots.

By the time Harry had filled the much larger basket with the wormwood, the sun was growing high in the bright summer's sky.

'Enough for now,' Snape said, as Harry placed the wormwood next to the other completed baskets (including the new batch of mistletoe that Snape had retrieved). 'We'll continue this afternoon.'

'Yes, sir,' said Harry resignedly.

Snape levitated the filled baskets before him on their walk back to the castle, and Harry gloried in the reduced load as he balanced the remainder.

He dashed quickly up to the headmaster's quarters to wash up and have something for lunch, then hurried off to meet Minerva in the Transfiguration classroom.

By nightfall, as Harry re-entered the forest with Snape for the third time that day, he was bone-weary. This 'summer detention' had certainly lived up to his expectations from the Potions master: his fingers and arms were aching from the constant pruning and plucking, his back in spasm from bending over, and his feet throbbing from the long walks. Even gardening at the Dursleys had rarely left him quite so exhausted. To add to the labour, Snape fired off a continuous stream of questions and information at him with each new ingredient, so that by now Harry had been forced to memorise the properties and uses not only of Death Cap and wormwood, but also nettles, mistletoe, belladonna, Wiggentree bark, Star Grass, sneezewort, knotgrass, and silverweed.

His final task for the night was to gather valerian – a plant whose roots were useful in many potions, including Living Death, Draught of Peace, Forgetfulness Potion, Headache Draught, and Dreamless Sleep. Snape wanted both roots and flowers, as the blooms could be used in milder forms of sleeping potions and cough suppressants.

And so Harry was bent low over a patch of valerian in yet another meadow. This meadow was even deeper in the forest than the one they'd visited in the morning, and much smaller. The density of the canopy and the waning moon made it very difficult to spot the little plants. Snape – who had gone off in search of belladonna in a nearby copse – Harry could not see at all. He didn't mind the break from the endless barrage of questions… but it was a bit unnerving to be on his own in the darkening forest. The night was still and windless, and Harry felt almost as though the forest herself were waiting for something.

At least the massive basket was nearly full.

As he closed his fingers over a likely looking bit of green, the hairs on the back of Harry's neck began to prickle. He felt eyes upon him, as oppressive as if someone were physically holding him down. His heart began to pound in his chest.

Very slowly, Harry released the valerian plant, raising his head to glance around. For a moment, he thought perhaps he _had_ imagined the sensation… but then he saw a pair of gleaming grey eyes across the meadow, staring unblinkingly at him from between two massive pines. Whatever creature the eyes belonged to, its form was shrouded in the darkness. There was something familiar about its stare…

'Growing bored, Potter?' came Snape's jeering voice from his left. Harry jumped, whirling around to face the professor. In the infinitesimal span of time that he was distracted, the watching creature vanished.

'What is it?' said Snape, in a slightly less derisive tone, coming closer to Harry as the latter continued to stare at the place where the watcher had been.

'There was something there – in the trees. It was watching me,' Harry said, still raking the trees for a sign of those peculiar grey eyes. 'I could sense it.' He could feel his heart still drumming hard against his ribs.

Snape seemed quite unperturbed. 'This is a very old and magical forest, Potter,' he said. 'There are many creatures lurking among the trees – one of the reasons students are forbidden from entering without supervision.' His eyes flashed at the last, and Harry – remembering Aragog – flushed a bit, though he doubted Snape would be able to tell in the blackness of the night.

'Dark creatures,' Harry pressed. 'There are lots of dangerous things in here – even Albus says so.'

'Perhaps,' Snape agreed, still without any semblance of concern. 'But I assure you – if whatever you saw in the trees intended to do you harm, you would know by now. Most magical predators are not known for their subtlety nor their shyness. Nor are there many breeds in this particular forest who are fond of hunting by stealth.'

'Not even the werewolves?' Harry asked. He remembered quite vividly how Draco Malfoy had proclaimed loudly on their first trip into the forest that werewolves hunted within the trees. Snape snorted. 'What?' asked Harry defensively. 'Are you saying there aren't werewolves at Hogwarts? Because –'

'I am saying nothing of the sort,' Snape disagreed, with a strangely intense look in his eyes. 'There are most certainly werewolves at this school. And you would be well served to remember the perils associated with them. But you are in no danger from a werewolf tonight.'

'Why not?' said Harry stubbornly.

Snape looked faintly amused now. 'I realise,' he said, in the delicate tone that he always adopted when cradling a particularly delicious insult, 'That your training in Defence Against the Dark Arts thus far has left a great deal to be desired. However, surely even one as dull-witted as yourself can discern the basic flaw in that assumption?' He waited, but Harry merely stared back, at a loss. Snape gave a mocking smile. 'Tell me, Potter, why is it so dark out tonight?'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Because the moon is – oh.' He flushed, realising his own mistake. Snape's leer widened.

'Indeed,' he agreed. 'Werewolves can only transform at full moon, and thus pose no danger when the moon is waning, as now. Or, at least, not _that_ sort of danger. The forest does play host to a pack of more ordinary wolves, but they pose no more hazard than most of their kind – perhaps even less so, as there are plenty of more intriguing game in these woods than a skinny boy of thirteen.'

'Right,' said Harry, feeling a little foolish now. 'Well, whatever it was, _something_ was definitely watching me,' he insisted stubbornly.

'I daresay that is a feeling you must be used to,' Snape drawled sarcastically. 'Gather up your basket – we are finished for the night.'

Harry did as he was told, throwing the final valerian plant onto the heap and hauling the load up to follow in Snape's wake. But as they headed back to the school, Harry could have sworn a low growl echoed through the darkened trees.


	11. Whispers on Wings

**A/N:** Hello to all my lovely readers! I'm so sorry – I know this chapter is now over a month in coming! As a treat for your patience, I am intending to get Chapter 12 up _super_ soon as well (read: will work very _very_ hard to make this happen by Monday evening). I promise I haven't gone cold on this story or anything … the delay has been due to some madness in my personal life. I don't know how many of you might have seen from my profile, but James and I actually _eloped_ mid-June! We took a fortnight or so on honeymoon, which was wonderful but did not leave a lot of time for writing. Things have been a little nonstop since we returned to London… and then this week-end we've had some additional news, which I shall keep under my hat until the next instalment, as I think it more appropriate to share there.

Anyway, I do apologise for the long wait. Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed in the interim, I REALLY appreciate it (especially as I made you wait so long!). A few responses to reviews with questions are posted below (read at your leisure, some are lengthy), and enjoy Chapter 11!

Love from, **C.S.D.**

 **PS:** There is a brief conversation in this chapter that takes place in German. Forgive me if you are a native speaker – it is not my first language and my German remains quite rough. I've included a translation at the end of the chapter.

 **Guest** (Chapter 7 Reviewer): Excellent deductions! You win the proverbial prize on that one.

 **Psitomer** : Thank you for your review and your support! I think we're a way off from friendship and/or neutrality at this point… but we'll see how things unfold. Tensions are only going to grow between Severus and Sirius for a little while – not least because they're all in the same place several months earlier than expected.

 **Halfblooddemiwizard** : Thank you! I'm very happy you're liking the story so much. The Snape/Sirius confrontation certainly _will_ happen… _when_ it does (or, is there only one?!) is not information I want to share just yet – but I do think you will enjoy it when we get there.

The plants/herbs gathered in Chapter 10…

Yes, there is definitely significance in the plants and fungi Snape had Harry collect in the previous chapter; although perhaps their most important purpose is to instruct Harry on the properties of different ingredients and the methodology behind gathering them – something they do not often get practical instruction on in potions class, where the focus is in brewing. Beyond this, some of the herbs serve as an opportunity for Snape to give veiled advice to Harry, about both potions and his greater destiny – something Snape is often trying to do both here and in canon. We see this particular scene from Harry's perspective, not Severus's, so exactly how much he means to convey through this advice is not entirely clear.

Lecturing Harry on the death cap toadstool, he warns him that meaning well but lacking knowledge can be a deadly combination ('It is often ingested merely by accident… but then, ignorance and good intention are often silent killers.'). Later, he reminds Harry what Golpalott's First Law is, and gives him advice which is actually quite similar to what Grindelwald says to Dumbledore in Chapter 29 of Part I – that in order to defeat something evil, you have to understand it (' _All_ antidotes and anti-venoms have a measure of the poison they counter within them, Potter. You cannot defeat the killer without understanding what it is made of; what it is that makes it deadly.'). Perhaps even more so than Gellert, Severus actually suggests you may have to partake in or possess a bit of such evil in order to counter it.

Snape next sends him after wormwood – which Harry notes for its somnolent qualities. Harry is familiar with its uses in Draught of Living Death (which we know from canon will come up in N.E.W.T.-level potions) and in Shrinking Solution (which is on the third year syllabus). But Snape points out that wormwood is also a key ingredient in most healing potions – several of which Harry has had to take in his time at Hogwarts. He also informs Harry that milder doses of wormwood can be used in 'mind-altering' potions… a type of brew that – like poisons – could prove dangerous to the unwitting drinker. Snape tries to get Harry to guess the additional uses of wormwood by asking him about the properties of the herb, from which we learn that wormwood is quite bitter – a quality that suggests the taste of a potion infused with wormwood should be able to give away its potent ingredient.

Nettles are a fairly common plant with stinging hairs – they are used in several potions as well as different teas and beverages (even wine). Most popular use is probably in Boil Cure – which Harry studied last year.

Wiggentree bark gets only a passing mention in the chapter, but it will become important later… so I hope people didn't miss that it was one of the ingredients Harry was asked to describe. For those who are not as familiar with the supplementary canon, the Wiggentree is a magical rowan whose bark is used in potion-making (for the Wiggenweld Potion, among others), and the tree is often guarded by Bowtruckles. Most importantly, anyone who touches the trunk of a Wiggentree will be protected from Dark creatures as long as they are doing so.

Star Grass is a medicinal herb (in both HP universe and the Muggle world). It's used in HP in a healing salve. In the Muggle world, it was a popular treatment for colicky babies until the 1940s. Sneezewort is used in the befuddlement draught and in powdered form as (gasp!) sneezing powder.

Knotgrass is an ingredient Harry should know well, as it is a central ingredient in Polyjuice Potion. Actually, it's scientific name is _Polygonum aviculare_ , and it was once believed to halt the growth of both children and animals (William Shakespeare's Lysander mentions it as such in _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ , MND .329).

Snape collects mistletoe, which is a bit of a shout-out to the druid influence that has permeated parts of this book. Mistletoe plants are extremely poisonous, actually, but the berries (which are comparatively non-toxic) are also used as an ingredient in the Antidote to Common Poisons and the Forgetfulness Potion. The ritual of oak and mistletoe is a Celtic religious ceremony, in which white-clad druids climbed a sacred oak, cut down the mistletoe growing on it, sacrificed two white bulls and used the mistletoe to make an elixir to cure infertility and the effects of poison. The ritual, known from a single passage in Pliny's _Natural History_ , has helped shape the image of the druid in the popular imagination, although it is unknown how much of Pliny's account is accurate. The oak tree makes an independent appearance here as well – the death cap mushrooms grow around its roots.

Silverweed is another plant that was used in medieval medicine in Europe, usually to treat abdominal cramping and open sores.

Belladonna, the last plant Snape goes off to collect, is part of the standard potions kit that all Hogwarts students are required to have. Its association with magic and witches is actually quite widespread (outside of the HP universe), going back to the Middle Ages. Like Aconite, belladonna was once believed to be a key ingredient in witches' flying ointment, and in the Middle Ages, some believed belladonna to be the favourite plant of the devil. Because it is used in a lot of common potions, I didn't choose it for any particular purpose here.

Finally, valerian. Valerian is used as an ingredient in Treacle fudge, which is one of Harry's favourite foods. It is also used in Draught of Living Death, the Draught of Peace, some sleep potions, and the Forgetfulness Potion – as valerian root has sedative and anxiolytic effects.

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 11: Whispers on Wings**

The soft call of the eagle woke him.

It was nearing dawn. He could tell by the sliver of cold light through the high slit in the curved tower wall that he liked to pretend was a proper window. It was much too narrow for a man – but just wide enough for the bird. Gellert sat up at once, bones creaking with age and disuse, and tottered closer to the beam of bluish light. He carefully wrapped the threadbare blanket around his forearm and gestured with one gnarled finger at the eagle. She leapt lightly from her perch on the sill, gliding down to close her sharp talons around his cushioned arm. He groaned a little at her weight.

Owls could never pass the wards. Not unless Albus allowed a particular bird through – and Albus was disinclined to do so… or, at least, he had been until recently. The only owls that had graced this fortress for half a century were those that delivered the newspapers, and they went only to Lakai. The house-elf sent the newspapers up with his meals, but Gellert never saw the owl. Even those that had brought Albus' correspondence these past few months had dropped their missives with the elf.

But common birds… they could come in and out as they pleased. They were no threat, really. They were wild creatures. Mundane.

But they could be tamed.

Training the eagle had been difficult. Much more so than he'd anticipated, having never bothered much with animals of any sort before now. Even at the height of his own power, he had considered owning an owl nothing but a liability; an avenue by which he might be tracked or tricked by his many formidable enemies. He had never utilised the same post owl twice in a row. And, of course, _this_ bird wasn't magical by nature, and so it lacked the inherent ability to commune with wizards in the way that owls were able to do.

Still, he'd always had an affinity for golden eagles. They were the national emblem of his country – both his nation of birth and his adopted homeland. They were proud and strong. They dove in from above – unseen and silent – and they took what was theirs.

He'd received Flüstern by accident. A fledgling, she had just flown her eyrie in a nearby tree, or perhaps in one of the fortress's many disused turrets. She'd been much smaller then, when she'd slipped through the slit into his little chamber. She'd flapped clumsily about the circular room, trying to find a way out. She hadn't known how to tuck her wings to slip back through. Gellert watched her impassively as she struggled, banging off the walls and ceiling and working herself into collapse. In the end, she had ended up crumpled on the stone floor; exhausted and injured from her efforts. Gellert picked up a heavy tome and stood over her broken form, thinking to put her out of her misery.

But something had stayed his hand.

Possibility.

So instead of executing her, he'd nursed the golden eagle back to health in a makeshift nest by his own derelict hearth. It had not been easy. For several weeks, he felt sure she would die from the injuries themselves; and his healing magic was rudimentary at best, without his wand. She hadn't trusted him either, snapping viciously if he attempted to touch her and gouging deep marks in his hands with her talons. Golden eagles were generally quite silent by nature… but Gellert still feared that the house-elf might discover her presence if he crept into the tower in the night.

Luck had been on his side. Over the weeks of her recovery, the eagle grew to know him… perhaps even to love him. And Gellert, in his turn, began slowly to train the bird. He christened her _Flüstern_ – for she was all silence and discretion, and in time she had learned to carry the whispers of the world on her wings. Over the years, he had grown closer to this creature than he had ever been to any living being.

'What have you brought me today, my sweet?' he crooned to the eagle, stroking one long finger across her head.

Flüstern nudged at the finger affectionately and adjusted herself to free her left leg, where Gellert could see a tiny scroll was furled. He detached the note with an easy flick of his hand, and withdrew a scrap of last night's chicken for the successful bird. She took the treat gratefully before swooping off through the window again.

Gellert unfurled the missive. He recognised the script – this had come from his contact in London. Sinking down into the spindly wooden chair, he scanned the letter's contents by the light of the coming sun.

No word on the location of Azkaban's escape artist… wandless magic reported in Privet Drive… Potter had not been seen at his relatives' house since the start of the month, and was rumoured to be back with Albus at the school… and in town, odd groups of people had started to gather; started to whisper…

What interesting news.

Gellert finished the scroll and set the end aflame, watching as the blaze slowly consumed the ink. When the last of the message had turned to ash, he brushed the remnants off his little desk and pulled a blank sheet of parchment from the battered drawer. He scratched out a hasty message of his own.

'Lakai,' he called, waving the scroll a bit to dry his wax seal.

The house-elf appeared, looking highly put-out to be called upon.

'Was ist es, dass Sie sich wünschen, Miststück?' the elf enquired.

'Ein Post-Eule,' Gellert replied dryly, holding out the letter. 'Diese Nachricht ist für Dumbledore. Stellen Sie sicher, dass er sie schnellstmöglichst erhält.'

The elf glowered, but snatched the parchment. 'Und was ist wenn der größte Zauberer der Welt nicht von Ihnen zu hören wünscht?' he asked distrustfully.

Gellert gave a sinister smile. 'Ich habe meine eigene Gesellscht schon immer vorgezogen,' he quipped. 'Und mit Albus... Ich werde das Risiko eingehen.'

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 _14 July, 1993_

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I hope your summer is going well, and that your time at the Dursleys' was not too horrible. I miss you already – it seems an age since the end of term._

 _I've been keeping quite busy, of course. I've nearly finished with first drafts of our assigned essays, but I can't wait to get into Diagon Alley to get a few books for background reading on our new subjects! I suppose it will be a few more weeks before we get the official lists… but it's never too early to prepare. I might post an owl order…_

 _The trouble is, Mum and Dad are rather nervous about going into Diagon Alley without Mr and Mrs Weasley or another qualified wizard at the moment. I've been getting the_ Daily Prophet _delivered – it's so lovely to keep up with the news from the wizarding world! – and I've been letting Mum and Dad read it as well. You know… they like to have a bit of insight into our world. It's hard for them, not being able to understand most of what we get up to at Hogwarts. Anyway, I'm sure you've heard about Sirius Black's escape by now – it's been all over the_ Prophet _. There's still no sign of him, but apparently the Ministry's set up all sorts of extra-security measures and cautions – especially in high-wizarding-population areas. Mum and Dad think we ought not to go into Diagon Alley without a proper wizarding escort – just in case._

 _I would ask Ron, but he's off on holiday – did you see the picture of the Weasleys in the_ Prophet _? I'm ever so happy for them, but so jealous; the ancient Egyptian wizards were fascinating!_

 _Well, I suppose I'll just have to wait until we return from our own holiday. Did I tell you? Mum and Dad have decided to take a few weeks in France – we're leaving on Sunday. I think we're doing a bit of a tour, but I'm sure Hedwig will be able to find me no matter where we are. I don't think I'll be able to write you again unless Hedwig arrives to carry the post… I really do need an owl of my own. I do hope you'll write – I want to hear all about your lessons and news from the castle. Ron's such a horrid correspondent, and it gets quite lonely without you two._

 _Take care of yourself, Harry. Perhaps we can all go to Diagon Alley together when Ron and I get back._

 _Love from,_

 _Hermione_

 _18 July 1993_

 _P.S.: Harry, Hedwig only just turned up – and lucky she did, because I was beginning to worry I wouldn't be able to get this off to you before we left! Please, please promise me you'll write while we're in France… I can't stand so many weeks apart, and I hate that we'll miss your birthday this year. I'll send you something wonderful from the Continent._

 _Mum is calling for me now – I'd better run. Lots of Love!_

 _Hermione_

Hermione Granger finished the letter with a flourish and rolled the scroll neatly. Harry's beautiful snowy owl watched her through amber eyes as she completed the task, and stood docile and dignified with one leg in the air so that Hermione could tie the letter to her leg with a length of ribbon. Hermione gave her a bit of crust from her toast as a reward, and Hedwig took off again through the open window with a hooted acknowledgement.

Hermione sighed. Perhaps for her birthday this September, she could convince her parents to get her a post owl of her own.

'Hermione, dear, come along!' her mother called again from the landing. 'We're going to miss the train if we don't get on.'

'Coming, Mum!' Hermione replied quickly, jumping up from the desk and swinging her bag over her shoulder.

She hurried out of the room and down the steps to join her parents in the front hall. Her father was just adjusting the alarm, while Jean Granger selected two brollies from the stand in the corner. She handed one to her daughter.

'They're predicting quite a gale later this afternoon,' her mother explained, as Hermione took the brolly with a word of thanks. 'You ought to wrap up a bit.'

'I've a jumper in my holdall,' Hermione assured her. 'But it's lovely out at the moment.'

'All set, then?' her father asked, turning from the controller.

The women agreed at once, and the little family loaded into the car for the journey through town. Hermione rested her chin on her palm, gazing out the window as they crawled slowly down a congested Prince Albert Rd, idly watching laughing families and holidaymakers in the park.

'Are you alright, love?' her mother asked, turning round in her own seat and scrutinising her daughter. 'You're very quiet this morning.'

Her father too glanced back at her with concern through the rear-view mirror, eyebrows raised.

'Oh, yes,' Hermione assured them. 'I'm quite well. Just thinking.'

Her mother gave an indulgent smile. 'Thinking about Harry and Ron?' she clarified with a knowing look. 'I shouldn't worry too much, darling. You'll be together again before you know it. And at least France will be such a lovely diversion from all that horrid unpleasantness in your _Prophet_ of late.'

'Quite right,' John Granger agreed, giving a short blast on his horn as they were cut off by an insolent cabbie.

'Yes, I suppose that's true,' Hermione said. 'It's all very strange as it is. The Ministry seems to be in an uproar. I've read all about Azkaban, and the fortress is supposed to be impregnable. And Sirius Black was supposed to be among the most heavily-guarded in the prison… there's a particular ward for people who committed terrible crimes working under You Know Who.'

Her father snorted. 'Well, even wizards can't have thought of everything,' he reasoned. 'It's not common, of course, but breakouts do happen. They'll have caught him before long, mark my words.'

'What do you mean – people who worked under You Know Who?' her mother repeated curiously.

Hermione hesitated. She'd read up on Wizarding history before her first term at Hogwarts, and she'd shared quite a bit of it with both her parents. But they'd never really talked much about Voldemort… certainly not since Hermione had actually gone to school. It wasn't done in the Wizarding World, if one could avoid it. And it was a habit Hermione had carried back with her to Kensington. Moreover, she did not want to frighten her parents into thinking Hogwarts was too dangerous a place for her to be.

'Do you remember what I told you about the war in our – in the Wizarding World?' Hermione asked. 'It ended when I was about two?'

Jean Granger furrowed her brow. 'Yes…' she said hesitantly. 'The one with Lord –'

'Yes, that's the one,' Hermione interrupted quickly. 'Sorry,' she said, as her mother looked stern at the interruption. 'But we never say his name. It's something of a taboo in wizarding society… people are still afraid, even after so many years.'

'But, didn't you say he'd gone? After he went after your little friend, Harry?' her father put in. Hermione grimaced.

'It's… a bit more complicated than that,' she admitted. 'He _did_ go – for a time, at least. He was defeated that night in Godric's Hollow, and everyone who had backed his side of the war was either captured and imprisoned or killed… except those who managed to lie their way out of it, of course.' Her father snorted again, while her mother looked scandalised. 'But You Know Who – that's what he's generally called – he wasn't killed. He's sort of… well, I'm not really sure. He's lost his body, though. And most of his powers.'

'He's a ghost?' Jean asked. 'Like your history professor?'

'Not a ghost, exactly,' Hermione said. 'He's more like… a shadow, I suppose. A sort of spectre that's somewhere in between the living and the dead. At least, Professor Dumbledore told Harry that he can't really be killed, because he's not really alive. Not at the moment.'

'And what has he to do with Sirius Black, and the others in the wizarding prison?'

'Sirius Black was part of his group of followers,' Hermione explained. 'You Know Who called them the "Death Eaters;" they were rather like henchmen – they committed all sorts of crimes and atrocities, in You Know Who's name and often at his instruction. When You Know Who went after Harry's family and then vanished, his followers were thrown into chaos. A lot of the Death Eaters tried to escape, or claim they hadn't been at fault for what they were doing at the time – that they were just following orders without knowing.'

'A likely story!' her father scoffed. 'Following orders… it's the Nuremberg defence; as old as the Second World War in our Courts, likely even before. And it's not a defence at all according to the House of Lords. Not to guilt, anyway; it is permissible only as evidence to –'

'Mitigate the punishment,' Hermione finished. 'I remember. But it isn't the same in the Wizarding World, Dad,' she explained. 'There are curses and potions which make it so you _have_ to follow orders… or so you cannot control your own mind at all. They were very popular with You Know Who's supporters. They used these methods to control or subdue many people, when it was more convenient for them to have the victim alive than to kill him outright. Curses often fade or break when the caster is killed or otherwise vanquished… so, after You Know Who's destruction, people who'd been bewitched came back to themselves. Of course, it could be exceedingly difficult for the Ministry to work out who had been genuinely impaired, and who was attempting to avoid consequence.'

'I imagine,' said John, looking highly disturbed now.

'In any case, some of his supporters tried to make that argument,' Hermione repeated, 'But others continued to fight even after he'd gone – to avenge his death, in some cases; to discover his whereabouts, in others. I'm not sure what Sirius Black believed about his master's disappearance, but he attacked and killed a wizard and twelve Muggles in broad daylight the day after it happened. That's the mass murder you read about in the _Prophet_. The Ministry caught him then, obviously, and he's been in Azkaban ever since, in the top-security ward. That's where they put all the Death Eaters they caught.'

'So… do you think this – You Know Who? – has got something to do with his escape, then?' her mother asked.

Hermione shrugged. 'Maybe,' she said. 'But I don't see how. Professor Dumbledore says he's abroad – what's left of him, anyway – and he's certainly not in any position to break _in_ to Azkaban, let alone break out. But his followers are quite dangerous in their own right. Even if You Know Who wasn't involved in his actual escape… I'm not surprised witches and wizards are panicking.'

'Well,' said her father in a reassuring tone, 'I highly doubt this bloke's decided to holiday in Paris.'

'No,' Hermione agreed, with the ghost of a smile. 'I'm sure he hasn't. But I'm not so much worried for me… I worry about Harry.'

'But what has Harry to do with any of it?' asked her mother.

'Nothing, particularly,' Hermione said. Privately, she wondered _why_ , exactly, she _was_ so much more worried for him… it wasn't as though he could be in any safer place than Hogwarts. She just had an ominous feeling about all of it; and, somehow, Harry _was_ always at the centre of any drama where Voldemort had a part to play.

Aloud, she continued, 'It's just that Harry is all on his own all summer… and I think it's quite hard for him. And I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will be extraordinarily busy with the Black situation.'

'Harry stays at the school during summer hols?' her mother clarified. 'That wasn't just for last summer?'

'Yes,' Hermione said. 'He spent a week at the beginning of the summer with his aunt and uncle in Surrey but… it isn't a particularly pleasant household for him. Professor Dumbledore keeps him at Hogwarts for the rest of the holiday.'

Her parents exchanged a significant look. Hermione felt rather awkward… but the situation wasn't really hers to explain; and she didn't know quite _how_ to explain it, in any case.

'His relatives aren't all that keen on magic,' she said, when the silence had dragged on too long.

'Well, that's nice of the headmaster to take him on,' her mother offered. 'It can't be easy having to care for a student all summer, especially at his age. I'm surprised he agreed to it.'

'Well, wizards and witches can live quite a long time… and Dumbledore has much more energy than you would expect, even if he is getting on in years. And Harry isn't really just a student to Professor Dumbledore,' Hermione disagreed. 'At least, not anymore. He's always been quite famous in our world, after what happened with You Know Who. It was very difficult for him at first. He was like me – he didn't know he was magical until someone from the school came to speak to him. His aunt and uncle knew, but they never told him. And then on top of all that, he had to learn to cope with the fact that most of the Wizarding world saw him as some sort of miracle baby, or hero, even though he can't remember what happened the night his parents died. I'm amazed he hasn't gone mad from it all, to be honest. But in any case, Professor Dumbledore has always looked out for him, particularly since last summer. I think he's more of a parental influence than anything else, at this point. Harry has never really had that before. The headmaster doesn't seem to mind. I think he enjoys it, actually. He and Professor McGonagall are quite protective; she's at the castle over the summer as well.'

'That's your Head of House?' her father asked.

'Yes,' Hermione said. 'And I think she and Professor Dumbledore… well, I don't know. I shouldn't gossip. But they seem… quite close.'

'How lovely,' her mother said with a smile.

'But why should Professor Dumbledore be caught up in this business with Black any more than the average person?' asked her father with a frown in the rear-view. 'He's the headmaster at your school, isn't he? He's hardly warden for the prison.'

Hermione gave a small smile of her own. 'Professor Dumbledore is a lot more than that, Dad,' she explained. 'He's… well, I don't know exactly how to explain it. We have a Ministry, as you know, and there's a Minister for Magic. But in a lot of ways, Albus Dumbledore is a lot more important than the Minister, Cornelius Fudge. He's much older, much cleverer, and much more accomplished. Obviously, he's had a lot of academic success, but he also defeated Gellert Grindelwald, who was probably the most infamous dark wizard in history, until You Know Who. And Professor Dumbledore led the resistance to You Know Who as well. Most of the Wizarding World considers the headmaster the greatest wizard of modern times, and his advice and counsel means a great deal. People look up to him.'

'Why isn't _he_ your Prime – that is, your Minister for Magic, then, if he's so important in the leadership of Wizarding society?' John reasoned.

Hermione frowned. 'I'm not really sure, to be honest,' she admitted. 'There's a lot of mention in the Wizarding history books of people clamouring for him to take the position… and he's both Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot – that's our High Court – and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. But as far as I can tell, he never stood for Fudge's job. I suppose he never wanted it, for some reason.'

'Smart man,' her mother approved with a nod. 'I've always said politics is a most horrid and bloodthirsty sport.'

Hermione laughed, as her father at last pulled into the car park at Kings Cross.

'Enough chatter,' he rebuked, shooing them both out of the car and unlocking the boot. 'We'd best get on if we want to join the train.'

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'Go on, Scabbers, you love chicken,' Ron coaxed from across the table, trying to feed a bit of meat to his ugly grey rat. The animal did not move to take it, merely sniffing listlessly on Ron's shoulder. The boy gave up, frowning.

'Not looking too well, is he?' George observed, as he stuffed a forkful of roast chicken into his own mouth.

'He's fine,' said Ron, defensively. 'I just don't think the climate here agrees with him much.'

Bill exchanged a significant look with Arthur.

'What!?' snapped Ron, looking between them.

'Nothing, Ron,' said Bill in a soothing tone. 'It's just – well, Scabbers is quite old now, isn't he?'

'At least twelve years,' Percy put in, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up on his nose and taking a sip of elderflower wine. 'He was full grown when I found him, and that was about Christmas, eleven years ago.'

Ron scowled. 'Meaning what, exactly?'

'Rats don't live forever, Ron,' Bill said gently. 'Twelve years is a very long time. Scabbers might just be –'

'He's _fine_ ,' Ron snapped. 'So you lot can stuff it. He's just not used to the heat!' He pushed his chair back, stowing Scabbers in a pocket.

'Ron –' Bill started, apologetic.

'I'm going up to write a letter,' Ron said irritably. He stormed from the room.

Bill sighed as he watched his brother disappear up the staircase. 'I didn't mean to upset him,' he said. Arthur refilled his own goblet, then topped off Bill's as well.

'Don't worry about it,' his father said. 'It's hard for Ron to face.'

'Don't know why he's so bothered about it, really,' put in Fred, reaching for the bottle of elderflower wine himself. 'That rat's nothing but a fat, lazy bore on his best day.'

'Not a chance,' Molly said, flicking her wand in a routine sort of way so that the wine sailed smoothly from Fred's hand to her own as he went to pour it. The twins scowled at her. 'And don't be so insensitive, Fred,' she added. 'Your brother is quite fond of Scabbers. There is nothing wrong with affection for a pet.'

Fred rolled his eyes as he turned back to his dinner.

'Heard anything new on Black, Dad?' George asked from across the table.

' _George_!' Molly hissed, flapping a hand to quiet her son as several other diners in the room turned toward their table. 'That's hardly appropriate conversation for dinner, particularly in a public setting!'

'Why not?' George challenged mulishly. 'Everyone's talking about it anyway, even here.'

At the head of the table, Arthur was looking strained.

'Not much to report, it looks like,' he said in a low voice. 'The Ministry's increasing the effort to find him – they put a special task force together last week. There's people from all the departments involved now, not just the Magical Law Enforcement. And I heard from Shacklebolt that Fudge is thinking of pulling everyone off their regular assignments at the end of the month if they haven't found him by then.'

Molly pursed her lips. 'I hope they won't be needing _your_ assistance in this, Arthur,' she said pointedly. He sighed.

'Molly, dear, I can hardly duck out if the entire government is called in for the task,' he reasoned. 'But it's neither here nor there at the moment. We'll boil that cauldron if we get to it.'

'Blimey, I'd love to know how he gave them the slip,' Fred said, a dreamy expression coming over his face. 'The entire guard at Azkaban… And now he's managed to avoid the Ministry and everything. It's brilliant.'

'I hardly think topping the international most-wanted list is something to aspire to, Fred!' Molly chastised in clipped tones. 'And if you can't show some measure of maturity, perhaps you ought to get on to bed.'

'Keep your hair on, Mum, I wasn't saying I wanted to _try_ it,' Fred complained. 'But, you've got to admit, it's unbelievable he's pulled it off.'

'Which goes to show what a dangerous wizard Black is,' Bill cut in, before his mother could explode.

'Exactly,' Arthur agreed. 'In all my life, I never thought we'd see the day a wizard could escape from Azkaban. The Dementors alone are enough to drain the power and will from most prisoners… to retain enough strength to escape them, especially after a decade in their company, is astounding. I would not have thought it possible. And we all know what Black is capable of. It is essential that we find him, before he makes it to H –'

'Arthur!' Molly warned loudly, drowning out the last of his sentence. Fred, George and Ginny leaned in eagerly.

'Pardon, Dad?' George pressed, in a politely interested voice. 'Didn't quite catch that last bit. Makes it where?'

'Never you mind!' his mother snapped at him, shooting a furious glare at her husband. 'Up to bed with you three!'

'Mum –'

'It really is getting quite late, and we have a full day ahead of us,' Arthur said. 'You ought to get a decent night's rest.'

'How come Percy gets to stay?' Ginny shot back with a frown.

'Gin, Percy's of age,' Bill pointed out.

'He's still at school,' George countered.

'And we're fifteen; we're not children,' Fred said angrily. 'I don't understand why you lot can't –'

' _Now_!' Molly shouted.

The twins jumped up, heading grudgingly for the staircase. Ginny gave Bill a pleading stare, but he shook his head with a half-guilty smile. She stalked off after her brothers, looking thoroughly betrayed.

'Arthur!' Molly spat furiously, once her younger children were out of earshot. 'You really _must_ watch what you repeat in front of those two! Do you want to be the reason half the school goes into a panic?'

Arthur held up his hands in surrender. 'You're right, of course, dear,' he confessed. 'But I don't know that we can hide it forever. Dumbledore's bound to tell him at some point, and no doubt the boys will hear it from Harry.'

'Hear what?' Percy asked curiously.

Molly frowned. 'I doubt Albus would share that information with Harry, Arthur,' she disagreed, ignoring Percy's query. 'It would terrify him. The headmaster would never –'

'Dumbledore would never leave Harry unprepared,' Arthur said firmly.

'It would terrify him!' Molly repeated in a screech.

'It's not about terrifying him, Mum,' Bill said, breaking into the argument again. 'It's about putting Harry on his guard. Dumbledore's not ignorant. He knows Harry, Ron and Hermione get up to… a bit more mischief than is perhaps in their best interest,' he pointed out. 'Leaving him in the dark only sets him up for more danger, in the end.'

'Fudge doesn't want him told,' his mother pointed out.

'Want who told what?' Percy asked.

'That won't matter,' Bill countered.

'But if Fudge says –'

'Bill's right,' Arthur said. 'Fudge has little say in what Dumbledore chooses to share. And Fudge doesn't know the boy at all; Dumbledore does. He's Dumbledore's responsibility. And Dumbledore has never been afraid to countermand the Minister.'

'But there's no way to really _know_ that Black's after him in the first place!' Molly insisted, spilling a bit of her wine as she banged the table in frustration.

'After _who_ , mother?' Percy interrupted again.

Molly bit her lip, looking between Arthur and Percy uncertainly.

'You might as well tell him,' Bill opined. 'You let him stay down here. He's seventeen. You can't protect everyone from the truth forever.'

'I think I can parent well enough on my own, William!' she snapped at him.

Bill held up his own hands in surrender this time. It was very rare, these days, that his mother ever took her temper out on him.

'Molly, you know that isn't what he meant,' Arthur said soothingly. He turned to address Percy himself with a heavy sigh. 'Your mother is concerned,' he said, 'Because it is believed by the Ministry that Sirius Black broke out of Azkaban with the express purpose of attacking Harry Potter.'

Percy looked startled. 'But – _how_?' he asked. 'Azkaban is supposed to drive wizards mad…'

'Perhaps,' his father agreed. 'But not everyone within the prison is completely out of their mind. Fudge was told that Black has been talking in his sleep for a while now, muttering "He's at Hogwarts," over and over. We believe that the school will be his ultimate destination, with the purpose of reaching Harry.'

'I'll look after him, father,' Percy promised. 'It's my duty as a prefect – maybe even as Head Boy, if I'm fortunate enough to wear the badge.'

Bill forced himself to stifle the urge to laugh. He knew Percy would be highly offended, and that his brother was well-intentioned, if in a completely pompous and somewhat naïve manner.

'There are plenty of fully qualified wizards to watch out for Harry,' Molly said firmly. 'You do your bit to make sure he and your brother stay out of mischief at the school, but don't you go throwing yourself into any danger.'

'You really ought to tell Ron, you know,' Bill said in an undertone to his father, as Percy and his mother began a side conversation across the table. 'He's going to find out anyway, if Dumbledore shares the information with Harry.'

'It's more complicated than that,' said his father in a whisper. 'I don't know exactly how much…' he trailed off, shooting a glance at his wife. 'Wait until your mother goes up. She won't approve.'

It was another twenty minutes before Molly Weasley announced she was headed up to check on the other children. Percy stood as well, saying he wanted to write Penelope before bed (and, Bill suspected, while Fred and George were not around to alter the letter). Arthur and Bill said they would remain for a nightcap, and bid the others a good evening. Bill ordered two glasses of Zibib.

'What is this?' asked his father, staring doubtfully into his own glass as Bill returned to the table.

'It's Zibib,' Bill told him. 'A local Muggle delicacy. Give it a try – it's not half bad, I promise.'

Arthur still looked dubious, but he took a hesitant sip. 'Mmm,' he said appreciatively. 'Bit of a kick, but rather nice.'

Bill smiled, toasting with his own tumbler. His father took a second sip of the bracing alcohol, and shot a privacy charm inconspicuously around their table. Bill raised an eyebrow.

'Rather delicate conversation,' his father explained. 'Best not risk it.'

Bill nodded, and added a second charm for good measure.

'So,' he said, when their spells were in place, 'What is it that's so complicated?'

Arthur sighed. 'I should not really be telling you this,' he said slowly. 'I've never even told your mother… and I can't now, it'd send her into even more of a state.'

Bill waited, his curiosity mounting.

'When You Know Who was powerful, there was a society of individuals organised against him – to fight the Death Eaters and gather information that would help our side. I was a part of it. Dumbledore was the leader, naturally. It was difficult work. We had some extraordinary witches and wizards – the Prewetts, the Longbottoms, the Potters, of course – who lost their lives or their sanity in the fight. It was exceedingly dangerous. Your mother knew I was involved, but she was caring for you and all of your siblings… and she was very distressed after her brothers were killed. I tried to shield her from the bulk of what we did. The trouble was, it meant keeping a lot of secrets, including the names of most of the others involved in our efforts. In those days, we did not trust anyone – which was why we were working outside the Ministry to start with. We took oaths of silence, and had to keep our secrets even from our family and closest friends.'

'I remember, a bit,' Bill said, as his father paused. 'I remember what it was like at the end; how worried she was every time you left the house. I didn't really understand all of what was going on at the time, but I knew things were bad.'

'They were… terrible,' Arthur confirmed. 'Worse than I could possibly describe; even now, when I have had years to think it over. We were outnumbered, and we were losing. Day by day, no matter how much we accomplished, brilliant men and women fell in the fight. Innocent people were maimed, or killed. Houses and villages were decimated. Families were destroyed. If You Know Who had never gone to Godric's Hollow, he would likely have conquered us all.'

He paused again, taking a larger sip from his drink.

'In those days, the best weapon we had was information. We had several useful contacts – people on the fringes of unsavoury society and, of course, a few well-placed informants in You Know Who's ranks. The trouble was, he had his own spies in ours. Dumbledore grew suspicious that some of our most useful information was changing hands, around the same time as we learned that You Know Who intended to go after the Potters.'

'He was _after_ them?' Bill put in, surprised. 'I never realised… I thought it was a random attack.'

Arthur gave a wan smile. 'He was after all of us, Bill,' he said quietly. 'Everyone who opposed him. But… yes, the Potters in particular. I am not sure what drove him to it, but Dumbledore did not seem surprised. We learned some time before his eventual attack that he intended to target Lily and James. I knew them well, though they were several years younger than your mother and I. They'd joined our group straight out of Hogwarts along with several of their friends, and they were both highly gifted magically. James was a good man – very brave, and exceedingly loyal. He loved his wife as fiercely as I love your mother, and his son as much as I love you and your brothers and sister.'

'And Lily?' Bill asked.

'Was a treasure,' said Arthur. 'She was beautiful, smart and talented. She had a fiery temper – quite unlike James, who was more laidback in general – a bit like yourself, actually. They would have made wonderful parents for Harry, if they had lived.'

'I can't imagine,' Bill said quietly. 'It must be so difficult for him. It must have been so difficult for _them_ , if they knew You Know Who was after their family.'

'It was,' Arthur agreed, seriously. 'It is always difficult, in the first place, to have a baby during a war. I should know,' he added, with the ghost of a smile. 'Lily and James were anxious enough, when they were expecting Harry. But then we learned that You Know Who intended to go after them. There are not a lot of options – not when you're facing such a formidable wizard. In the end, Dumbledore convinced the Potters to use a very old protective spell called the Fidelius Charm.'

'I know it,' Bill said, at his father's inquiring glance. 'We learned about it in N.E.W.T. lessons, in my seventh year at Hogwarts. We've even used it here, a few times, to protect some of the more valuable tombs that we haven't explored entirely.'

'Then you know,' said Arthur heavily, 'That the charm requires a Secret-Keeper?'

Bill nodded.

'Dumbledore offered to be the Potters' Secret-Keeper himself,' his father continued. 'He was worried about the leak in our security, and he feared that someone close to Lily and James had been sharing information on their whereabouts and movements with You Know Who. But the Potters declined the headmaster's offer. Instead, they chose to use James' best friend for the task – a man named Sirius Black.'

'Sirius Black was James' _friend_?' asked Bill, astonished. 'His _best_ friend?'

'Yes,' Arthur confirmed. 'Black was close to both the Potters. He had been James' best friend from the time they were children, and he was best man at his wedding to Lily. They were inseparable, even as adults. They partnered on missions in the fight against You Know Who. Black even lived with the Potters for a time, until Harry came along. It was astonishing after what happened… but he had us all completely fooled.'

'So… he was their best friend – their Secret-Keeper – and he betrayed them,' Bill summed up, his expression stony.

'Yes,' said his father. He was whispering now, despite their privacy wards. 'It was a devastating blow. Black was close with many of us in the organisation. I liked him very much myself, actually. He came from a difficult past, but he was always full of life and laughter. He was quite like Fred and George, actually – always looking for the joke even when things were so bleak. Until that day, I would have picked _any_ other person in the world as the one who would sell out Lily and James, rather than name Sirius Black. But that is the trouble with the truly Dark wizard… you never suspect a betrayal until the dagger is buried in your back.'

'And he sent them to their deaths,' Bill growled. 'His best friends, and their son.'

'His godson,' Arthur corrected quietly.

'His _what_?' Bill snarled, horror-struck. 'Harry was his _godson_?'

'Yes,' his father said, looking desperately sad. 'Harry does not know. At least, I do not think he does. It is part of the reason I am hesitant to say anything to Ron… I'm sure Dumbledore will tell Harry that Black is a particular danger to him, but I do not know how much of Black's history with his family Albus will share with him at the moment. Harry is still so young, and it is a lot to digest.'

'He's thirteen,' Bill pointed out. 'Or nearly so. And this sort of thing never stays hidden forever. Surely Dumbledore would rather tell Harry himself than let him find out from another student, or read about it over breakfast.'

'It isn't a widely known fact,' Arthur said. 'I doubt any _Prophet_ reporter would be able to dig up the information – at least, not about the Fidelius Charm or Black becoming Harry's godfather. I'm sure he _will_ tell Harry, one day. But he might wish to take the difficult conversations by degree. And it is not my place to interfere.'

'No, I suppose not,' Bill conceded. 'But… poor Harry. His _godfather_? I can't believe it.'

'Quite,' Arthur agreed. 'The entire situation was a terrible shock, for all who were close to the Potters. Peter Pettigrew, who was another of their best friends, was killed by Black himself the day after James and Lily, as I think you already know. Remus Lupin fled the country in his grief. Alice Longbottom, who was quite close to Lily, was nearly inconsolable… and then, of course, she and her husband were viciously attacked only days later. For the rest of us, the incredible joy that accompanied You Know Who's downfall was sharply tainted with blood and betrayal. For nobody more so than Harry – though he does not know it's extent.'

They paused a moment, fingering empty glasses, each lost in his own contemplation.

'I'll get us another,' Arthur said at last, rising from the table.

Bill nodded distractedly, still thinking over the weight of this information. He thought about Harry – alone in the castle with the remaining staff, and the headmaster; ignorant of this terrible story that had so heavily altered the course of his life. He wondered who else knew the truth… who else had been in this fight, with his father and his uncles and Dumbledore and so many others. Who else sat, like Arthur Weasley, with the knowledge of Black's duplicity, and the lives his treachery had cost?

How many of them even survived to remember?

'There is a reason I've chosen to share this information with you,' his father said, returning with another round of drinks for them both. 'I fear that we are on the verge of another war, Bill. There have been signs… a series of ominous happenings, over the past few years. That business with the Defence professor at Hogwarts last year; the horrible events of this past term that your sister was caught up in; and now, Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban. They all trace back to You Know Who. I can tell that Dumbledore is worried. He's called another of our colleagues from the last war back from the Continent, to Hogwarts. The rumour is that he will fill a post at the school next term, and he's already been tasked with helping to watch over Harry for the summer. I do not want to consider it, but I think it would be foolish to ignore the possibility that we may yet have to face You Know Who's attempt at conquest once again.'

'I'm sure you're right,' said Bill heavily, taking the drink with a nod of thanks. 'We always knew he wouldn't stay gone forever.'

'No,' Arthur agreed. 'And this time, my son, you are not a child any longer. I cannot ask you for anything – and I will not ask you to risk your life, if war should come to Britain again. But you deserve to know the truth. You are a man now, and you deserve the chance to make your own decision.'

'I already have, Dad,' Bill assured him, lifting his glass to clink it against his father's, and offering a smile despite the tension. 'You ought to know by now… I'm with you, whatever comes.'

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 _Translation of the German text:_

 _'_ _What is it you want, bastard?' the elf inquired._

 _'A post owl,' Gellert replied dryly, holding out the letter. 'This message is for Dumbledore. See that he gets it forthwith.'_

 _The elf glowered, but snatched the parchment. 'And what if the greatest sorcerer in the world does not desire to hear from the likes of you?' he asked distrustfully._

 _Gellert gave a sinister smile. 'I have always loved my own company best of all,' he quipped. 'And as for Albus… I shall take my chances.'_


	12. Le Mystère de l'Amour est plus Grand

**A/N: This is a rather long author's note… so Review Responses for Chapter 11 will be posted at the end of the chapter instead. If you don't want to read this portion, please skip down to the start of the chapter after the break.**

So, my news… James and I have just found out that we are expecting a baby! This is _much_ sooner than we anticipated and we're still a bit in shock, especially as we've only been married seven weeks – which is also, apparently, about how pregnant I am. We are absolutely thrilled at the prospect of becoming parents (James perhaps more so than me, at the moment, because he's not had to sick up virtually everything he's eaten in the past three weeks… morning sickness is horrendous and also, as it turns out, _not_ limited to the morning hours).

You aren't really supposed to tell anyone before you are twelve weeks or so along… but _I'm_ telling all my readers (because FanFiction is anonymous and I just can't _not_ tell someone)! My mum would be exceedingly jealous. ;) It will be some time before we find out if baby is a boy or a girl… but I'll take name suggestions all around – I've nothing so far. Also, I do apologise in advance, because already this pregnancy has messed with my anticipated timing for updating this series. I have _no_ intention of giving it up or delaying too long, but it might be difficult to accurately predict posting capabilities (at least as long as this morning sickness lasts).

So on that note… I hope you all enjoy Chapter 12! If you left a question in your last review, responses are below.

P.S.: The title of this chapter is a quote from Salomé, by Oscar Wilde: 'Le Mystère de l'Amour est plus Grand que le Mystère de la Mort' (English : the mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death).

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 12: Le Mystère de l'Amour est plus Grand que le Mystère de la Mort**

'I hope the adjustment to today's timetable is not too confusing for you,' Albus said graciously, as he ushered Harry into the circular study ahead of him after breakfast on Thursday. 'Severus had an errand to run this morning.'

'Not at all, sir,' Harry assured him, taking the cue to sit on the longest sofa. 'I'm always knackered after his lessons anyway – it's nice to have a reversal once in a while.'

'Indeed,' Albus agreed, eyes twinkling. 'And how has the wandless instruction been going?'

Harry shrugged. 'Alright, I think,' he said tentatively. 'We worked on shield charms last week, obviously, and Tuesday he mostly lectured. I don't know what he's got planned for this afternoon.'

He looked rather apprehensive at the thought. Albus smiled. 'No doubt whatever it is, you will perform it admirably,' he said encouragingly.

Harry blushed. 'I hope so, sir.'

'Albus,' the professor corrected.

'Albus.'

'So, on to a different subject,' the headmaster said brightly. He clapped his hands, and a full tea service appeared before them, complete with several choices of delicious-looking crumpets. Albus spread raspberry jam over his selection, nodding to Harry to help himself.

'I know we have just had breakfast,' he acknowledged. 'But I do find that conversations which impart an excessive dose of wisdom are best enjoyed over additional sustenance. It stimulates the mental faculties, you understand.'

Harry looked faintly amused as he buttered his own crumpet.

'So, Harry,' Albus continued, brushing excess jam onto a serviette, 'As I explained to you before, it is my intention to delve into several areas of deepest magic with you in these – for lack of a better descriptor – "lessons."'

Harry nodded, looking excited. Between the confusion of the previous week and Albus' commitments to the Ministry on the Sirius Black situation, they had not yet had a chance to meet for one of these sessions – outside their late-night discussion of Nimue's story.

'You have been learning a great deal about the patronus from Remus this summer,' he observed. I wonder if you can tell me – what type of magic would you say the Patronus Charm can be classified as?'

'Defence Against the Dark Arts,' said Harry at once.

Albus smiled. 'Yes,' he agreed. 'But it is more than that. What was Nimue's patronus to Arthur, according to legend?'

Harry wrinkled his forehead in thought. 'It was… his guardian. His protector, I guess.'

'Precisely,' the headmaster agreed, nodding. 'The patronus can be used as a specific defence, of course, but it is also one of the oldest known of the protective enchantments still in use today. Like all protective charms, the patronus is strongly associated with Love. The most powerful patronuses are cast when motivated by – or as protection for – those people that we love the most. You have a great affinity for protective magic. This is exemplified in your superb abilities with the shield charm. One day, you will cast a formidable patronus.'

He smiled again as Harry blushed. 'There are many different kinds of protective enchantments – some that protect people, others that guard buildings, locations or information. Protective magic that focuses on shielding an individual is usually classified within Defence Against the Dark Arts. Other protective spells are differently labelled. Wards, for instance, come in many varied forms. Some are taught at the most advanced level in Charms here at Hogwarts, others are rooted in Ancient Runes or even Arithmancy.'

'Are you going to teach me how to _ward_?' Harry asked, looking mightily impressed.

'Not today,' Albus clarified. 'But I am sure I shall, one day, when you are a little older. Today, I wanted to speak to you about a very old and advanced charm, which can be used to guard a Secret. It is called the Fidelius Charm.'

He paused a moment, carefully considering how best to proceed. He wanted to lay these pieces very cautiously; did not want to overload Harry with a thousand truths at once. He wasn't ready to tell him everything about that night… but perhaps, if he imparted this one bit of background knowledge, he could slowly build both of them to a place where they were ready.

As long as nobody else told him first.

'How does the Fidelius Charm work, sir?' Harry asked, breaking into the headmaster's thoughts.

'It is a complex enchantment that involves at least two people,' he explained. 'The person who wishes to "pass" the secret, so to speak, and the person who receives the information – the "Secret-Keeper." There can be multiples in either role, so long as there is at least one of each, and as long as the person who passes the information has a true and honest claim over the secret. The "passer" of the information or the Secret-Keeper can perform the charm, or else a third party may do so, if the persons involved are not capable of casting the enchantment. The fidelius charm is used exclusively to protect a fixed, physical location. Once performed, the location of whatever place is being protected – the "Secret" – is forever sealed inside the very soul of the person who fulfils the role of Secret-Keeper, unless that person chooses to divulge the information.'

'But, what if the Secret-Keeper can't talk at all?' Harry asked, confused. 'Or, what if they get tortured or something, or they go mad, and they start revealing it to everyone? What if they _die_?'

'The Secret-Keeper must enter into the charm voluntarily, and must be capable of revealing the secret – by speech or by any other form of communication – in order for the charm to take hold. It cannot be cast where the Secret-Keeper is not in possession of his or her mental capacities. The revealing of the secret can also only succeed if the revelation is voluntary; thus, it is impossible to torture, coerce, or charm the Secret-Keeper into breaking the vow, or even force the secret out of the Secret-Keeper by means of a powerful truth potion. Of course, if the information is written down by the Secret-Keeper, it is much harder to control revelations. People who receive the secret from the Secret-Keeper cannot reveal it themselves to further people. If a Secret-Keeper dies, anyone who has received the secret from that person becomes a Secret-Keeper in turn, and may then reveal the secret. The charm can also be reversed by the caster if, of course, the caster was not also the Secret-Keeper, or by the "passer" or that passer's heir, who maintains the claim to the protected location. And if the Secret-Keeper reveals the hidden location to any party who they _know_ the information was intended to be kept from, the charm is broken. The charm derives its name from the Latin _fidelis_ , which translates to "trustworthy and faithful." If the Secret-Keeper does not uphold this quality, the power of the charm is broken; for that trust – the Love that forms the central tenet of the charm's power – no longer exists.'

'It sounds… confusing,' Harry admitted.

Albus chuckled. 'It is,' he allowed. 'But, if performed correctly, the fidelius charm provides a powerful magical barrier – far more powerful than even the most advanced of wards. The secret is quite literally impossible to find – even if you were to be standing on the very threshold of the hidden property.'

'As long as the Secret-Keeper doesn't tell,' Harry pointed out.

'Yes,' Albus agreed, looking very seriously at the child. 'Like so many other protective enchantments, it is a magic that rests on the fickle nature of human emotion. And humans have a tendency to folly. Performing a fidelius charm requires that you put your faith, your trust, in the goodness of another's soul… in the strength of their love. Not everyone is capable of such a feat, on either side.'

'You keep talking about love,' Harry said, 'But I don't see it. It's about trust, really, isn't it?'

'They are two sides of the same coin,' Albus disagreed. 'Or, perhaps, trust is an extension of love… depending on how you look at it.'

'Trust can't be a part of love,' Harry disagreed. 'I don't _love_ everyone I trust.'

'Do you trust everyone you love?' Albus asked, very intent now.

Harry hesitated.

'It is not an easy answer, is it?' Albus observed. 'Love… trust… even hate. They are strong and complex emotions; strong and complex _magics_. Most people cannot honestly describe, even to themselves, whom it is they love, or trust, or hate. And often, we feel some measure of all three for the same person. They are not feelings easily come by, and even less simple once they are present. Grappling with these emotions is a lifelong struggle, and I am afraid there are no shortcuts that I know of. But they yield powerful protections.'

'Like my mum?' Harry asked seriously. 'Like when she died, to protect me? You said that created a powerful protection – that was why you said I had to go back to… to Privet Drive.'

'Yes,' Albus said simply. 'The most powerful of all protections – sacrificial magic. Love magic. She tied her very blood to yours.'

'Love magic,' Harry repeated, looking contemplative. 'It's just so… I don't know. Hard to understand.'

'Love is the most mysterious, the greatest, and the most terrible of all magics,' Albus said quietly. 'Nothing can protect us more thoroughly; and nothing can destroy us more utterly.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _The night was bitterly cold; frigid New Year air cutting their cheeks as they crept through the high banks of snow, huddled together beneath the cloak as much for warmth as for concealment. The two men did not talk as they advanced toward the house, but they didn't need to verbalise in order to remain in sync – they had passed that stage years ago. Sirius knew the man beside him better than he knew his own mind; was tuned to his very pulse._

 _As they crept along, Sirius wordlessly vanished their tracks in the deep snow. He knew their fogged breath could give them up just as easily, but the regular sweep of his wand every few feet gave his tension some measure of release._

 _There was a low-burning candle in the sitting room window; otherwise, the little house was in shadow._

 _'_ Muffliato _,' James muttered, pulling at Sirius' wrist to bring him to a halt as they reached the edge of the garden._

 _Sirius looked sideways at his friend, surprised at the charm. It was hard to read James' expression in the darkness._

 _'Not thinking of starting without me, are we boys?' came a low voice in his ear._

 _Sirius jumped so violently, he nearly tore the cloak from around their shoulders. James started to shake with silent laughter, his fist pressed against his mouth._

 _'McKinnon!_ ' _he growled, pushing James slightly to shut him up. 'You sodding prick! You might have blown the whole scheme!'_

 _'Ease up, Padfoot,' James said, finally recovering himself and straightening from his bout of hilarity. 'He got you good, mate.'_

 _'Piss off,' Sirius muttered, aiming a half-hearted punch at James' stomach. He dodged the blow, mirth still dancing in his eyes._

 _'Where'd you get the cloak, then?' Sirius asked, as Sean McKinnon pulled the hood back a bit to wink roguishly at him._

 _'Nicked it from Mad-Eye,' he said shamelessly, shrugging out of the invisibility fabric. 'Weren't strictly necessary, mind – it's dark as Merlin's tomb out here… but it were too good an opportunity to pass up. That's for those doxy eggs you slipped in my soup last week.'_

 _'You put a permanent sticking charm on my pants!' Sirius retorted, nettled. 'I had to beg Lily to get them off to have a wee… James standing there laughing his head off while I was basically starkers. I should've put dragon dung in your soup instead!'_

 _'Well, you were snogging my sister, weren't you?' Sean pointed out, wagging an admonitory finger. 'Can't have that now, can we?'_

 _Sirius ran a careless hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. 'Couldn't help that, mate,' he said, with a wink. 'Marley… she's really grown since Hogwarts, you know? And I mean in all the right –'_

 _He dodged quickly as Sean aimed for his nose. He didn't anticipate James' simultaneous stinging hex, and yelped a bit as it caught him straight in the bum._

 _'I wouldn't chance the sticky toffee pudding Marlene's fixing for tonight, Prongs,' Sirius muttered darkly, rubbing at the sting. 'And nicked my arse – no way you pulled one over on Moody, McKinnon. He lent it to you for the night?'_

 _Sean shrugged, folding the fabric over one arm. 'Same thing really. And it was Dumbledore's idea. He thought there might be trouble. I told him there'd_ definitely _be trouble if he was sending me to meet you up, but –'_

 _'Enough,' said James, cutting into the conversation with an anxious glance back at the darkened house. 'Put the cloak back on, mate,' he said to Sean._

 _'No point, is there?' Sean disagreed. 'There's not but Culus here anyway, by the looks of it. Don't know why Dumbledore thought it'd be a four-man job to take him out.'_

 _'Dumbledore said to capture him,' James reminded, pulling the cloak off himself and Sirius as well, and tucking it carefully into the folds of his winter cloak. 'We're not to kill him. His information could be useful. He's the best Potioneer they've got.'_

 _'Marcus Culus would be_ most _useful six feet under,' Sirius countered. 'Just stating the facts, Prongs!' he added with his hands up, as James turned a glare on him._

 _'Sirius and I will take the front entrance,' James said in a whisper. 'Who's supposed to be partnering you, Sean?'_

 _'Peter,' Sean replied, with an anxious glance down at his watch. 'And he's late,_ again. _I don't know where he's –'_

 _But McKinnon was cut off as the front door of the house burst open with a blast that pulled it from its hinges. James yanked Sirius roughly out of the way as the oak panels shot directly at their heads, and Sean gave a howl of rage and pain as one trailing bit of metal cut sharply into his upper arm._

 _'Missing a friend?' a taunting female voice asked from the gaping hole._

 _Sirius regained his feet, heart thumping in panic, as the three men whirled to face the house with their wands drawn._

 _Bellatrix Lestrange stood framed in the tattered entryway, her wild black curls blowing about in the vicious January wind. Her beautiful face was twisted into a gleeful smirk that highlighted her manic zeal as, from behind her, hooded figures began to creep into the garden, wands out and faces hidden behind glinting golden masks. Sirius registered the danger in a foreign part of his brain – felt his heart accelerate again as they grew more and more outnumbered with the emergence of each cloaked Death Eater. But he could not embrace the panic. For, crouched at her feet, Bellatrix held a snivelling wizard by a tuft of mousy brown hair, her wand pressing an indentation into his Adam's Apple as he whimpered in terror._

 _'Wormtail!' James hissed, his jaw set as he stared at their captured friend._

 _'Yes, so nice of him to pop round this evening,' Bellatrix said, stroking the red-nailed hand that had been gripping Peter's hair along his forehead like she was soothing a fussing infant. 'Someone needs to pay a bit more attention to Mr Twycross, don't they?' she mocked. 'Destination, determination, deliberation, little Peter. Shall I show you how it's done?'_

 _Bellatrix whipped out a silver dagger from the folds of her robes. Sirius recognised it at once – it had been a wedding gift from his own father when Bellatrix had married Rodolphus Lestrange, the year Sirius turned twelve. Bella, though only eight years his senior, had already been in service to Lord Voldemort._

 _She ran the flat of the blade down Peter's face. Sirius could see beads of perspiration rolling onto the silver as Wormtail's whimpering increased. At his jawline, the merest hint of red blossomed._

 _'Don't touch him!' Sirius growled furiously, raising his wand and pointing it directly at his cousin._

 _Around him, ten other wands rose immediately to fix on him. James turned his body so they were nearly back to back, while Sean began to back slowly toward them as well. Sirius thought he heard James mutter a spell as their shoulders touched, but the wall of looming wands was too much of a distraction to follow up._

 _'No,' Bellatrix commanded, raising the hand with the dagger to halt her companions' challenge. 'Not yet.'_

 _She crouched low over Peter again from behind, running her hands provocatively over his chest and letting her dark hair whip his face. Her eyes never left Sirius' as she smirked evilly at him over Wormtail's shoulder, her hands now running across his waist. She bent as if to whisper in his ear, and caught the lobe between her teeth. Peter gave a muffled yelp as she bit down._

 _'Tastes of half-blood and fear,' Bellatrix crooned, her dark eyes still focused on her cousin as she nuzzled the side of Peter's face with her forehead. 'Shall we see if your grubby little friend can be taught how to apparate properly, my dear cousin?'_

 _Before Sirius could do more than blink, Bellatrix had abandoned her torturous siren's song, flinging the silver dagger across the garden. In the next instant, she vanished both herself and Peter in the swirl of her cloak, reappearing almost soundlessly in the path of the spinning dagger, her eyes closed and both arms around Peter's chest._

 _'Wormtail!' James cried in horror, pulling back his arm to cast a defence. But the word had not even cleared his throat before the dagger whizzed past the pair, missing the edge of Peter's nose by millimetres and lodging in the wood of the garden fence._

 _'You see?' said Bellatrix in that same condescending whisper as she carded Peter's hair. 'You need_ convictions _, little boy. Or you will never survive the dance of Death.'_

 _James nudged Sirius in the side, his eyes fixed not on Bellatrix, but on the house behind her. His wand hand twitched a fraction higher. Sirius gave the tiniest of nods, his eyes still boring into Peter's terror-stricken ones… trying to convey some measure of comfort._

 _Bella was too busy continuing to toy with her prey to note the sudden attack; too comfortable in her superior numbers and too focused on her own vindictive games._

 _'_ Confringo! _' James shouted, pointing his mahogany wand at the empty house._

 _The hex was powerful. It shot straight through the gaping hole of an entryway, into the heart of the house. The building exploded with a blast like cannon-fire, shooting bricks, glass and bits of wood in all directions as everyone threw themselves out of the way. Sirius, who'd been expecting the explosion, dove for Bellatrix just as the spell made contact, taking advantage of her fleeting distraction to snatch Peter from her side._

 _'_ No! _' she shrieked, clawing at him. He blocked her with a spell and dragged Peter behind him._

 _Bellatrix gave a snarl of rage, slashing her wand through the air. He parried the cutting hex at the last moment, and a black-robed figure to his left was felled instead, his intestines coiling nauseatingly upon the ground as he keeled over._

 _'As usual, Bella, you duel better with words than with spells,' he taunted, spinning to avoid another hex and retaliating with his own._

 _'We shall see, blood traitor,' she spat back at him. '_ Crucio!'

 _Sirius was forced to dive this time to avoid the unforgivable. Bella laughed, turning into the darkness and appearing behind him. Sirius only just managed to apparate himself and Peter farther back and out of the way._

 _'Lovely night for it!' Sean offered brightly, as Sirius and Wormtail appeared by his side._

 _He was duelling three at once, his wand slashing so quickly through the air it looked a blur. Below them, in the garden, Sirius saw James take down a pair of Death Eaters with a well-placed jinx, just as Bellatrix appeared at his back._

 _'Prongs – behind you!' Sirius bellowed._

 _James avoided her curse by inches, as the garden was bathed in bright green light._

 _'Get up and draw your wand, Wormtail!' Sirius snarled, his vision reddening with the heat of the battle and anger at his ruthless cousin. 'We are not going to die on the fringes.'_

 _Even as he said it, a second jet of green light shot toward them, blasting Sean – still embattled in his treble-duel – completely off his feet._

 _'_ McKinnon! _' Sirius shouted, diving for the falling body._

 _He knew it was already too late. Sean's eyes were wide and empty, his mouth half-open in surprise. There was no wisp of life in his face. Through the rushing of his own fury pounding against his ears, Sirius could hear Bellatrix's shriek of mirth as she celebrated her kill._

 _With a roar, Sirius jumped to his feet, blasting all three of Sean's erstwhile opponents with an impediment jinx in his rage. One did not move again as his head collided sickeningly with a cluster of bricks from the ripped-apart house, his mask slipping from his face on the impact. With a jolt, Sirius realised this man was their quarry – Marcus Culus._

 _Oops._

 _'Take the others,' he shouted over his shoulder at Peter. The two remaining Death Eaters were already dazed and battered – they shouldn't be a challenge. Below them, James was managing the other four and Bellatrix all on his own… and Sirius could see him fading. 'I'm going to Prongs.'_

 _He barrelled down the hill, shooting curses in a nonstop barrage and dodging the counters. He did not dare to apparate, now that the battle had grown so chaotic._

 _'Fancy the left or the right?' James asked in a would-be casual voice, as Sirius pulled up alongside his back._

 _'Left I think,' Sirius quipped back, falling into step beside him and freezing a hulking form he thought might be Antonin Dolohov. 'I've never been much for the traditional choice.'_

 _James gave a short laugh. For one brief, wonderful moment, it seemed all would be well in the world again. No matter that their school friend had just been cut down on the hillside. No matter that they were surrounded by blood and bodies. No matter that the Fates seemed to be shearing their strings with almost painful determination. James laughed – and for a moment they were fifteen again._

 _And then the world righted itself, and Sirius fell off the edge._

 _Bellatrix had apparated again, with the reckless, ruthless abandon only she could manage amidst a sea of carnage. She freed Dolohov with a slashed spell, and fired another_ Crucio _at her cousin. Sirius dodged, just as Dolohov brought his own wand arm slicing through the air._

 _The undulating beam of violet struck James across the chest._

 _Sirius gave a cry of rage that caught in his throat, mangling into a gurgled sound somewhere between horror and fear. Abandoning all sense, he lunged for James' collapsing body, catching him around the waist and lowering him gently to the grass, resting his head against his own knee._

 _'Prongs!' he hissed, shaking James' shoulders gently._

 _He did not stir._

 _'PRONGS!' Sirius called, shaking more insistently. James' head flopped dully to one side against his knee, but he showed no sign of response. Sirius stopped shaking, fearful he might damage him more… if he wasn't… if he hadn't already been…_

 _'Aw, poor ickle Siri, all on his onesie,' Bellatrix taunted, stepping catlike foot-across-foot as she circled them. 'No Mickey… no Jamie… and soon, no Wormy…'_

 _Sirius snapped his head toward the hillside at the threat, where Peter was trying valiantly to hold his own against the two opponents. His round face was covered in sweat and fear as he battled, looking desperately close to defeat at every pause. With a giggle, Bellatrix took aim._

 _'No!' Sirius began to cry, torn between his place at James' side and his terror for Peter. He couldn't save them both._

 _He didn't have to._

 _Miraculously, at that moment, the garden was rent by the crackle of a dozen apparitions. Like edelweiss through mountain crags, Order members began popping up all over the scene, wands drawn and curses ready on their lips. Bellatrix was pulled at once into a blazing duel with Alastor Moody; Dedalus Diggle and Elphias Doge stepped in to assist Peter; and Minerva McGonagall, Fabian Prewett and Arthur Weasley began to battle with Dolohov and his companions._

 _Sirius registered the passing of immediate peril with only a fraction of his mind… the rest was fixed inexorably on the waxen face of his best friend; the barely detectable flutter of his heartbeat against Sirius' thigh._

 _He looked around in panic. How_ could _they have left tonight without portkeys? Foolish, stupid thing to do. He could apparate them out – but he had no idea what sort of damage he might do to James if he transported him in this state. He had no idea what that curse had been._

 _A flash of white –_

 _Sirius stopped roving the battle with his eyes as he saw it. Somehow, in silence, Albus Dumbledore had joined them. He was bent low over Sean McKinnon on the hill, his face obscured by his long curtain of silver-white hair. As if he could hear Sirius' distress telepathically, the headmaster snapped his head up, catching Sirius directly with his gaze before the latter could even shout for him._

 _In a flash he was at his side._

 _'Dumbledore,' Sirius breathed, cradling James' head even closer as the headmaster crouched down._

 _'What happened?' Albus asked, feeling for James' faint pulse at his neck._

 _'I don't – Dolohov –'_

 _But he was cut off by an unearthly keen, as Alastor Moody collapsed into Dumbledore and all four of them were drenched in scarlet. There was so much blood, Sirius was momentarily unable to decipher what had happened to him. Then he registered that the torrent was streaming from Mad-Eye's leg, which had been blown clean off mid-thigh. The man was starting to shake in shock, even as Albus worked quickly to stem the flow._

 _Bellatrix gave a scream of triumphant laughter. Sirius drew his wand again, setting James' head gently on the ground and whirling to face her. But with a hiss, the mad woman grasped her left forearm._

 _'Come,' she said imperiously to Dolohov – the only other Death Eater still standing. In a swish of cloaks, both of them disappeared._

 _The battle was over._

 _'Alastor!' Minerva cried, dropping to her own knees beside the headmaster._

 _'I'm fine, Minnie,' the grizzled Auror tried to reassure her. She shushed him immediately, stroking back his sweaty hair while Dumbledore chanted a low incantation over the stump of his leg. The wound had stopped gushing now._

 _'Is there any chance of reattaching it?' she asked in a whisper, as the headmaster finished his work and Moody's eyes fluttered closed._

 _'No,' said Albus in a hard voice. 'It was a curse that severed it.'_

 _He turned to face James again, laying a hand on his chest. Minerva's eyes followed him._

 _'_ James! _' she hissed. 'What's –'_

 _'Take the portkey and bring Alastor back to Hogwarts, Minerva,' Dumbledore said urgently, not turning his head from James' still form. 'He will need to see Poppy immediately. We will join you shortly.'_

 _Minerva nodded, her face very white as she fumbled for the golden chain beneath her robes._

 _'Professor,' Sirius called, his own voice cracking. 'Get – get Lily, would you?' he asked._

 _Minerva's eyes fell again to James, whose body was now glowing under Dumbledore's diagnostic. She gave Sirius a grim nod, and vanished with the still-unconscious Mad-Eye._

 _'Albus, what –' came a new voice._

 _Elphias Doge had joined the grouping, at the head of the straggling Order fighters. All were a little bloodied and battered, but nobody else appeared mortally wounded. Peter was being supported on one side by Arthur Weasley, but he seemed intact for the most part. A fraction of the heaviness in Sirius' heart relaxed._

 _'Everyone back to the castle,' said Dumbledore, cutting across his friend as he read quickly through the little scroll of parchment. 'Sirius – we have to move him. He needs care I cannot provide here.'_

 _'Should – should I apparate him, sir?' Sirius asked, grasping James by the shoulders again._

 _Albus shook his head. 'I will take him myself,' he said. 'He is in a very delicate state, and I can apparate him straight inside – I removed the ward before leaving tonight.'_

 _Sirius nodded, allowing Dumbledore to relieve him at James' head. They vanished soundlessly._

 _'You can come with me,' Arthur offered, pulling his own portkey from beneath the neck of his cloak and offering the chain to Sirius._

 _Sirius nodded gratefully, taking the golden loop without a word. In seconds, he felt the familiar pull beyond his navel as he was whisked back home._

 _The hospital wing was in chaos upon their arrival. Madam Pomfrey had sectioned off the back portion of the ward to receive patients from the Order, with soundproof curtains shielding the adults from whatever students might be convalescing over the holiday. The matron herself was bent over Alastor Moody in a corner bed, carefully examining his wound. Mad-Eye, Sirius was pleased to see, had regained some of his normal ruddy complexion and was conscious once more, grumbling in irritation at Poppy's ministrations and trying to ward off Hestia Jones, who was assisting the matron in coaxing additional blood replenishing potion into the Auror._

 _James was on the other side of the ward, where a healer in St Mungo's robes that Sirius recognised as Lancelot Prewett was hastily measuring out steaming potions on the bedside table while Dumbledore spelled them into James' stomach. They had connected him to magical supports – a shimmering oxygen haze was floating over his face while golden numbers above his head flashed vitals that terrified even Sirius' untrained mind. Somebody had removed his robes, and James was naked from the waist up. His abdomen was a sea of horrifying purples and reds. The sight turned Sirius' own stomach._

 _'Did someone reach Lily?' he croaked, hovering at the foot of the bed where Elphias Doge was watching the scene with a grave expression. He was afraid to distract the healer or the headmaster from their efforts. Elphias placed an aged hand over his, squeezing with surprising strength._

 _'Minerva's gone to floo her,' he whispered back. 'She should be here any moment.'_

 _Sirius nodded once, not trusting his voice any longer. They watched the healing in silence for several long minutes, until at last the healer straightened up, wiping his brow as Dumbledore spelled the last of the brews into James' still unmoving body._

 _'He'll live,' he said grimly, answering the question in Sirius' eyes. 'But it will not be an easy recovery. That curse was among the most vicious I have ever encountered – he's lucky to have survived it.'_

 _'Thank you,' breathed Sirius. He waited for Dumbledore's nod of approval, then moved closer to the bed. He hovered a hand above James' head, afraid to interfere with the magical monitors._

 _'Just take his hand,' Albus suggested in a soft and understanding voice._

 _Sirius nodded, following the suggestion. James' fingers were ice cold._

 _'It's alright, Prongs,' he muttered, stroking the back of his hand. 'It's going to be fine now. Lily's on her way.'_

 _As if on cue, Sirius heard the bang of the hospital door as someone threw it ajar. Hurried footsteps clicked against the marble floor, and moments later Lily threw herself through the curtains. Her beautiful face was ashen and terror-stricken, her dark red hair flying madly around her face as she rushed to her husband's side. Sirius moved out of the way at once._

 _'Oh, Jamie!' she cried, taking up the hand Sirius had released and running the fingers of her other carefully down his cheek. Her eyes flicked up to the monitors at once, taking in the vitals._

 _'What happened?' she demanded, turning furious green eyes on Sirius. 'I thought this was to be a routine capture?'_

 _'They knew, Lils,' said Sirius darkly. He didn't move to correct her temper – she had every right to be furious. 'They knew we were coming for him. They had almost a dozen others hidden in the house. I don't know how –'_

 _'That,' the headmaster interrupted, coming up to the other side of the bed and conjuring himself, Sirius and Lily chairs with a wave of his wand, 'Is precisely the relevant inquiry.'_

 _Sirius frowned at Dumbledore. Lily's eyes blazed, though the hand she kept on her husband's brow was exceedingly gentle._

 _'You think someone gave them the information,' she said, bluntly. 'You think there is a traitor in the Order.'_

 _'Yes,' Dumbledore admitted. 'It is the only explanation that makes sense. There were far too many Death Eaters for coincidence.'_

 _'It's true,' Sirius agreed. 'And the house was in darkness when we arrived – they were intending an ambush. It was lucky that you thought to send a second set of partners, sir, or we'd never have stood a chance.'_

 _'Lucky that someone alerted Albus,' Lily said darkly, stroking back a lock of James' dark hair._

 _'Prongs did,' Sirius informed her, remembering. 'Just after Bellatrix and the others came out of the house. He sent his patronus.'_

 _'Who did this?' Lily asked quietly._

 _'Dolohov,' Sirius replied. 'He hit him with a curse I've never seen before – some sort of violet wave. It was slow moving, but we didn't see it in time. I don't know what it did, exactly.' He looked expectantly up at the headmaster, who cleared his throat._

 _'A curse of his own invention,' Dumbledore explained. 'I had not seen it either. Its purpose seems to be to melt the internal organs – like a blood boiling hex, but much, much stronger.'_

 _'_ Melt _–' Lily repeated in a high pitched squeal, terror redoubling in her eyes._

 _'Do not worry, child,' Dumbledore said soothingly. 'We were in time. He will have to take a series of unfortunately nasty potions for several weeks, but James will make a full recovery. He should be quite well enough to hold his child.'_

 _Sirius started up from his contemplation of James' monitor, looking so sharply from the headmaster to Lily he felt a painful protest from the muscles in his neck._

 _'What did you say?' he breathed, addressing Dumbledore but looking intently at Lily. 'Hold his – his what?'_

 _Lily bit her lip, a light blush colouring her cheeks. 'How did you know?' she asked Albus in a whisper._

 _The headmaster smiled. 'My dear,' he said softly, 'I could tell the moment you appeared tonight. His aura is intermingled with your own.'_

 _'His?' Lily repeated, her voice heavy with emotion._

 _'Indeed,' Dumbledore agreed, inclining his head. 'Your son will be a powerful wizard. And as brave and kind as his parents, I have no doubt.'_

 _'You're… you and James… you're having a_ baby _?' Sirius clarified, still feeling like someone had just clubbed him round the head._

 _Lily smiled. 'Yes, and not a word to James, Sirius,' she lectured. 'I haven't told him yet.' She surveyed him doubtfully for a moment. 'Come to think of it, I should probably just charm it out of your memory. Definitely the safer option.'_

 _Sirius threw up his hands in mock defence. 'I can't_ keep _something like this from him, Lils!' he complained, as Dumbledore made his way across the ward to see to the battle over Alastor's recovery. 'You're gonna have to tell him straight away, or I'll blow it for sure.'_

 _'Tell me what?' came a soft voice between them._

 _Both Sirius and Lily quieted at once, leaning over the bed. James' eyes were hazy with pain and potions, but he smiled a bit as he took in their anxious faces._

 _'Easy, loves,' he said croakily. 'You're not going to be shot of me so easily.'_

 _He raised a hand as if to smooth the worry lines from Lily's brow, but let it fall halfway there with a hiss._

 _'What, what is it, darling?' asked Lily at once, as Sirius called for Dumbledore again._

 _'Stomach,' James groaned. 'It's fine – just a bit sore.'_

 _'And will be for a while, I fear,' said Albus, coming back over to join them. His eyes were sparkling as he took in James'. 'It is good to see you awake, dear boy,' he said, smiling down at him with a fatherly indulgence. 'You gave us all quite the fright.'_

 _'I apologise, sir,' said James formally. 'I'm afraid we made a right mess of it.'_

 _'Not at all,' Albus disagreed. 'You were hardly to blame. You just concentrate on getting well now.'_

 _James grimaced. 'How long do I have to stay in here?' he asked, the hint of a boyish whinge colouring his tone. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled even more brightly._

 _'A week or so, I think, if I can work on Poppy's good nature,' he said, anticipating James' groan. 'I should consider myself lucky – with any other, she'd likely keep you to bed for a month. But I daresay you will be in excellent hands at home.' He inclined his head at Lily. 'Would you like something for the pain?'_

 _'In a moment,' agreed James. Though he was smiling, Sirius could read the strain behind his eyes. 'I don't want to be knocked out again quite yet.'_

 _Dumbledore nodded his understanding, laying a hand on James' arm. 'Do not push it too long,' he warned. 'You need rest to heal.'_

 _'Yes, sir.'_

 _'It's Albus, James,' the headmaster corrected, stroking his arm once more as he moved to return to Alastor. 'I dare say waging a war together ought to put us on more familiar terms.'_

 _James smiled as the headmaster took his leave, before shifting his focus again to his wife and Sirius._

 _'So, what was it you were going to tell me?' he asked, shifting just a bit against the pillow._

 _'Tomorrow, Jamie,' Lily said, carding her fingers gently through his hair again. 'You need to –'_

 _'You're going to be a Daddy!' Sirius burst out._

 _The next second he had bolted for the cover of the matron's office, dodging Lily's furious hexes as she pursued him._

 _'Sirius Orion Black!' she screeched behind him, sending another blaze of red over his right shoulder. 'I will murder you!'_

 _'Oi!' James protested, trying valiantly to hoist himself up from the bed with an expression of mingled shock and amusement that quickly evaporated into pain._

 _'That is_ QUITE _enough!' Madam Pomfrey protested, emerging from the curtains that had been pulled around Alastor's bed with a furious glare. Dumbledore, Minerva, and Arthur Weasley followed her, their expressions ranging from naked surprise to high amusement. 'You two – stop this ruckus at once!' she snapped at Lily and Sirius, as Minerva disarmed both. 'And you, Mr Potter,' she continued, turning to James and looking likely to breathe fire, 'You lie back and stay quiet – before I knock you out and spell you to that bed with a permanent sticking charm.'_

 _James obeyed at once, collapsing back against the pillows. The little colour that had returned to his cheeks had quickly drained again with the effort of sitting upright, and Sirius regretted his outburst as he and Lily rushed back to his side._

 _'Prongs, I'm sorry, mate,' he apologised, sinking into one of the conjured chairs. 'I shouldn't be teasing right now.'_

 _James ignored him, his eyes glued to Lily. 'We're going to have a baby?' he asked her, his eyes all tenderness._

 _'A son,' she breathed back. Her own eyes shone with unshed tears. Very, very carefully, she leaned in to kiss him lightly on the lips._

 _'So mind you two take better care of yourselves,' she chided him, straightening up and brushing at her cheeks. 'I don't want our son to grow up without his father.'_

 _'Of course, love,' James said obediently._

 _'Or his godfather,' Lily added, turning to face Sirius._

 _'Godfather?' he repeated stupidly, nonplussed._

 _'Of course,' said James, smiling too. 'What, you thought we'd leave you out of the fun?'_

 _Sirius beamed. 'I'm gonna make sure he gives you hell,' he warned. 'Broomsticks for every birthday, and a lifetime supply of dungbombs and biting teacups.'_

 _'I wouldn't expect anything less,' James said seriously._

 _Lily rolled her eyes. 'I doubt he'll need much help there, James,' she pointed out darkly. 'He's_ your _son.'_

 _James laughed again, pure joy in his face…_

 _And then his eyes grew glassy and vacant, the rosy tint leaving his cheeks._

 _And the bed was gone, and the hospital, and the warm glow of family and friends, and the walls of Hogwarts._

 _And James was lying in a blown apart entryway, his limbs askew and his glasses smashed on the floor – still, and lifeless._

 _And Lily was no longer radiant with pride and pregnancy, but cold as ice, her curtain of red hair a shroud._

 _And Harry was gone._

 _And Sirius was alone._

He woke with a start, gasping for breath and drenched in cold sweat. He was under a large beech tree at the edge of the lake, where he, James and Remus had laughed and relaxed in happier times. He couldn't remember falling asleep, but the dream he recalled only too well. It had been this way ever since he'd left that godforsaken island. Night after night, memories that had long faded with the years spent in the Dementors' company returned, more vividly than he'd ever known them. But they always twisted… they always succumbed to reality.

With a groan, Sirius pushed himself up against the trunk. It was growing colder; darker. He was momentarily surprised – it couldn't have been more than mid-morning when he'd fallen asleep… had he slept through to dusk?

And then he recognised the sensation, at almost the same time that he saw the first of the wraiths gliding toward him around the lake.

He scrambled hurriedly to his feet in panic – it was time to go. He never should have left the safety of the forest. Sirius took three steps before realising another horrible truth: it had happened again; he'd transformed back in his sleep.

 _Shite._

He'd be no match for them in this state.

With rising panic, he flung himself toward the distant trees, making the change mid-flight. He could only pray that they would abandon their hunt.

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'Call it to you, Potter, it's not that difficult!' Snape snapped.

'I'm trying!' Harry growled back irritably. Beads of sweat were sprouting along his brow as he focused with all his might on the copy of _Draughts and Remedies_ that Snape had thrown to the floor at his feet. The distance was but two feet, but the book lay stubborn and immobile.

'It just… won't… _move_!' he groaned, gritting his teeth as he focused on the book again.

He was growing more and more frustrated with this rubbish assignment; and with Snape, who was still snarling at him from his place at the front of the classroom.

'Argh!' Harry shouted, flinging his arms over his head in temper.

There was a sound of crashing glass, and Harry wheeled about to see that several of the slimy jars that lined the middle shelf had exploded, oozing their contents onto the floor. Snape set the mess to rights with a wave of his own wand before turning his furious gaze back to Harry.

'Control!' Snape barked, advancing on him. 'This is an exercise in _control_ , Potter, as much as ability. If you continue to work yourself into temper you will accomplish nothing!'

'I'm _trying_!' Harry repeated, with a bit more ire than he'd intended. At Snape's glower, he quickly softened his tone. 'It won't come to me, sir,' he said. 'No matter how hard I try. But, er, I am sorry about the shelves,' he added, with an apologetic nod toward the back wall of the classroom.

Snape rolled his eyes. 'You're missing the point, Potter. Again,' he spat.

Harry bristled, though he'd only just told himself to calm his temper. 'How can I be missing the point, _sir_?' he said. 'You told me to summon the book: that's what I'm trying to do! It won't move off the floor! And you just stand there, shouting at me to –'

'Enough!' Snape interrupted.

Harry snapped his jaw shut. He was afraid he might have pushed too far… but he continued to glare at the Potions master with his arms crossed all the same. Snape rubbed at the bridge of his nose for a moment.

'Once again, you give in to your tendency for the dramatic – the cacophonous and the chaotic. This is exactly the danger in practising wandless spells so young; why it drains the magical core. You do not understand the delicate distinctions. Wandless magic is not a power of brute force, you imbecile. It is a study in precision. This is not about powering _more_ into the spell, it is about conducting your energy correctly.'

'How am I supposed to do that?' Harry challenged, exasperated. 'I've never even done this spell _with_ a wand,' he pointed out.

Snape shook his head. 'That is immaterial,' he said dismissively. 'The entire point of this exercise is to get you to learn how to push past the need for incantations. The summoning charm is a simple spell – and its intent is similarly straightforward. It should be an easy enough place to start.'

'But I've never _done_ nonverbal magic!' Harry moaned.

Snape's glare intensified – he hated whinging.

'Of course you have, you incorrigible child!' he scolded. 'You will not learn traditional nonverbal spellwork until your final years at Hogwarts, but every wizard has done wordless magic. _All_ accidental magic is nonverbal; innate magic is often nonverbal; it is a fundamental principal of what I have been trying to teach you!'

'What do you mean, traditional nonverbal spellwork?' Harry challenged. 'How many different ways to do this _are_ there?'

'You will address me as _'Sir_ ' or ' _Professor_ ' at all times, Potter!' Snape hissed.

'Sorry, _sir_ ,' Harry corrected, with as little rancour as he could manage.

He felt sticky, hot and exhausted with the futile effort of forcing nonverbal, wandless magic. It was making him more irritable than usual… a dangerous occurrence in Snape's presence.

Snape continued to glower darkly, but he answered Harry's query.

'Magic is not a stagnant element, Potter,' he clarified. 'There are immeasurable facets to magic, and innumerable theories and methods of practice. We have already discussed innate magic and its relative relationship to accidental casting and wandless ability. You know from the headmaster that the wand is used to harness the magical core, and incantations and wand movements are the tools by which we cast traditional spells, correct?'

Harry nodded.

'It is possible to cast without speaking,' Snape continued. 'You have, no doubt, seen it done many times now. That is usually nonverbal magic in the traditional sense – that is, a wizard thinks the incantation, but does not say it aloud. Casting this way can give you an advantage in a duel, as it is much more difficult to discern what spell a silent wizard will cast. There are also some disadvantages, of course. You must be very focused on the _specific_ incantation, and nothing else, to cast the spell. In addition, nonverbal magic is often less powerful than spoken incantation, though that is often a corollary to the previously mentioned issue of developing sufficient focus. All wizards of sufficient talent can be taught to cast nonverbally with their wands. Those who have a talent for wandless magic can also do so without their wands, as it follows the same general theory.

'Non-traditional nonverbal casting, on the other hand, is _always_ wandless, and shares more in common with innate magic like that involved in childhood episodes of accidental magic. It involves harnessing the willpower to accomplish what you wish to do, by bending magical elements to your command.'

He paused, rubbing again at his temple. 'Perhaps I have jumped too far along in attempting this exercise with you today. I shall speak to Minerva about covering the Summoning Charm with you in the traditional sense – and we will approach it again at a later date. Perhaps sometime before your _birthday_.'

Snape sneered the word, and Harry knew why. Dumbledore had brought up that there was only a fortnight to go at breakfast just this morning. But he didn't care if Snape was teasing him. For only the second time in his life, he was looking forward to 31 July – and not even Snape could ruin that for him.

'Mrs Weasley says it's good luck for wizards to be born at the end of the month,' Harry offered, deliberately letting his excitement show.

'Does she?' asked Snape in a bored tone, flipping through a pile of parchment on the desk.

'Yup,' said Harry, grinning. 'She says there's a saying about it: Death of the month brings the best of the bunch. She says I'm doubly lucky, because _I_ was born as the seventh month died – and seven is the most powerfully magical number.'

To Harry's surprise, Snape's shoulders stiffened, and his face seemed to drain suddenly of colour. He looked sharply up from his desk, fixing Harry with a hard obsidian stare.

'What did you say?' he asked, his voice low and uncharacteristically rough. Harry stared.

'My birthday's at the death of the seventh month – you know, July,' he said with a frown. 'Seven's supposed to be the most power–'

'You should not put such store in puerile superstitions!' he barked, with an abrupt return to his usual disposition. 'We will continue, now, with the –'

Snape was interrupted, as a brilliant silver phoenix suddenly materialised in the centre of the room.

'Severus,' the phoenix spoke, in Albus' soft, urgent voice. 'He is in the grounds.'

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Severus stared for one long moment at the place where Dumbledore's patronus had vanished –startled into numb shock at its missive. Then, as quickly and suddenly as that day he'd stood over Lily's lifeless body, he felt the torrents of murderous rage consume his very soul.

The idiot had come to the school… Did he think himself capable of facing the headmaster – wandless and weak with years at the Dementors' tender mercies? Did he think he would survive Severus' fury?

Vengeance would be his.

He turned so quickly for the door, he momentarily forgot the boy's presence.

'Who's in the grounds?' Potter quoted in confusion, staring in turn at the now-empty hearthrug.

'Do not leave this room!' Severus snapped, whirling about to glare at the boy. 'Do not practise magic, do not floo, do not move. And do _not_ open the door until I return for you.'

'I don't –'

'This is not a debate, Potter!'

'But who –'

'It does not concern you,' said Severus smoothly, schooling his expression into cold indifference once more. 'You will do as I say, or you will sincerely regret your disobedience.'

But Potter's eyes had gone wide, his jaw set. 'It's _him_ , isn't it?' he said, as Severus made toward the door again. 'It's Sirius Black?'

Severus gave him a steely glare from the threshold. 'As I said, it is no concern of yours,' he repeated. 'You are to remain here until I return. Have I made myself clear?'

Potter looked annoyed, but he nodded begrudgingly. Severus inclined his head with one more pointed glare, and swept from the room.

He spelled the door closed, just in case.

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 **REVIEW RESPONSES (CH. 11):**

 **Babascoop** : Thank you for your review and comments! I'm glad you enjoyed the short journey to Nuremberg – we will be back before the end of summer hols. I'm sorry you didn't think much of the Hermione bit… I actually originally only wrote her letter to Harry – this entire chapter, originally, was a series of post or letter-writing scenes. But I did not like the format when I edited, and so Hermione's was the only letter I ended up leaving with its contents intact (others were moved/removed, etc.). It seemed odd to leave the letter on its own, so I expanded the scene a little. It _is_ a 'previously on' section in many ways – but it is also meant to give insight into how much Hermione shares (and does not share) with her parents, as well as a start of some independent character development for her. I agree it wasn't the most interesting tidbit, but necessary for foundational purposes. Finally, the Weasleys… yes, you are correct in your instincts – Bill will be a recurrent POV character throughout the series, and will play a role in the story (increasingly so as the series moves forward).

 **AlsoKnownAsMatt** : Thank you for your review and comments! I'm glad you are enjoying the story thus far and appreciate you sharing your thoughts (both positive and constructive). I understand your concern about the A/Ns and review responses… but I also think it strange leaving a 'preface' to the chapter at the end of the actual instalment (although I know many other fanfic authors post in that manner), and I don't like to take away from those who have reviewed by not publishing the responses… I try to caution when comments are set to be long (or when they include spoilers) and there is a pretty obvious break where the chapter starts; so I guess ultimately I feel that those who don't want to read the notes and responses can scroll pretty quickly to the start of the actual chapter. However, I'll try to make the break more obvious in future, and I will start posting review responses at the end of the chapter where (like today) my A/N is particularly long. Your point on the German is well-taken (and probably correct). I just could not resist; it was far too much fun to dialog between Gellert and Lakai. I suppose in retrospect I probably should have done so in English – I might go back and change it.

 **LordTicky** : Thank you! : )

 **Shadowhunter** : Thank you for your review, and I'm glad you are enjoying the story so far! No Harry last time – I wanted to have a look at happenings outside the school… but he's back this chapter! I don't want to say _too_ much on the Severus/Sirius front, except to point out that while Severus certainly looks after Harry in his own way (particularly now), he also at times treats him quite badly… verbally, at least. Don't get me wrong, Snape certainly has good intentions, but he is definitely (as he self describes) 'in the grey'. Your points on Sirius's psyche are absolutely meritorious… but throw in the fact that Sirius's concerns _could_ seem valid in light of some of the things Severus says to Harry (if you only have part of the story) … and we're in for one significant mess.

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for your review! Sorry for the long wait – hopefully this is a more suitable timeline. We'll see about that missive – certainly it has to do with the current situation and the agreement between Dumbledore and Grindelwald. We'll see him again before the summer's out. Everyone seems so excited for that confrontation (Sirius v. Severus)… I promise, we're headed that direction eventually, but we're not quite there (this is more marathon than sprint). We may, however, see more backstory where the two of them are concerned.

 **Leonore** : Glad you enjoyed it! The Grangers are not named in canon to my knowledge, but Hermione's middle name is given as Jean, which was where I drew the idea for her mum's. We will certainly see more of Bill (and I'll see what I can do re: your request!).


	13. Between the Sinners and the Saints

**A/N:** Thank you all for your well-wishes and support, and to those who read and reviewed! I really appreciate it. We're happily anticipating this next phase, and I'm sure I'll share some of the excitement in future notes :)

This chapter came more quickly than I had anticipated, and I wanted to upload it straight away as a reward for what I know has been a slower summer than my usual pace. It is shorter than the norm, but the previous chapter was rather longer, so it should even out. I hope you all enjoy this one… it's action-centric and quite fast-paced! Please read and review!

Lots of love – C.S.D.

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 13: Between the Sinners and the Saints**

Harry stood alone in the Potions classroom, fuming as the door slammed behind Snape.

It was stupid, ridiculous even, that he was once again left behind while everyone else went to deal with the situation. Never told anything. Never given the details. Just ordered to stay inside and keep his head down – keep out of trouble like an obedient little boy. The very idea infuriated him.

There was something about Black… something more. Harry was certain of it. _Snape_ had wanted to tell him… Snape had _told_ Dumbledore to tell him. The headmaster had said that Black was after Harry; that he wanted revenge for Voldemort's downfall.

 _But… did that make sense?_

Harry knew there were many supporters of Voldemort that had never been apprehended. Ron was adamant that the Malfoys, the Goyles, the Crabbes and several other Slytherin families were close to Voldemort during the last war, and yet they had kept themselves out of prison when he disappeared. Mr Malfoy certainly hated Harry, but none of the other supposed followers of Lord Voldemort had set out to murder him at Hogwarts… well, unless you counted Quirrell, and that was quite different.

Why would Sirius Black escape from prison, then come to the one place where he knew the greatest and most powerful wizard of the age – plus several other formidable witches and wizards – resided? Why risk everything to escape, only to throw it all away on a fool's errand? Why come for _Harry_ at all? Why not go to Voldemort's aide – help his old master rise to power again – if he was so devoted even more than a decade later?

What made Sirius Black so much more of a danger than any other follower of Lord Voldemort?

Harry wanted answers. He could not stay shut up in this dingy classroom, while the rest of them were out in the grounds. He would not do it.

Determined now, Harry wrenched the door handle.

It would not budge.

Harry swore. Of course – Snape had locked it. He really did not trust Harry _at all_. Snarling, he pulled his wand.

' _Alohomora_ ,' he said confidently, pointing the wand at the door handle. He tried it again.

Still locked.

' _Alohomora!_ ' Harry said again, more insistently.

The door was still resolutely closed.

Pulling at his hair, Harry kicked the door in temper, earning nothing but a strong ache in his big toe to add to his frustration. _What the hell had Snape locked this with, anyway_?

He searched the room fruitlessly, thinking of breaking _down_ the door, if there was anything strong enough.

And his eyes alighted on the fireplace… and the tin of floo powder resting on the mantle.

Brilliant.

Gleeful, Harry dove for the hearth. He threw a pinch of the powder into the flames, which turned a satisfying shade of emerald.

'Great Hall!' Harry called, stepping into the floo. With a whoosh and a swirl of ashes, he was propelled up the chimney.

He emerged seconds later out of the massive fireplace in the Great Hall, coughing from the influx of ash and brushing soot from his robes. The Hall was still and silent, the castle's few occupants clearly out on the hunt. Harry took off at once for the doors, skidding over the slippery tile of the entrance hall in his haste and throwing himself through the castle entrance.

Though it was only mid-afternoon, he might have just run into twilight. The grounds were grey and cold, the sky above threatening a storm at any moment. There was not another soul in sight, and even Hagrid's hut was in darkness. Shivering slightly in only his summer-weight shirt and trousers, Harry set off toward the gamekeeper's home, thinking that he'd be bound to see one of the searchers if he was farther from the castle.

He had no sooner reached the little stone path up to the hut when he felt it. True coldness – bitter, bone-chilling ice that threatened to freeze his very blood in his veins. Harry knew at once what the sensation arose from. He recognised it.

There were Dementors in the grounds.

Harry looked round in panic and spied a hoard of the foul creatures set upon the hill, gliding out from the shadow cast by the castle. Very slowly, they began to move his way.

Harry stumbled, forcing himself into motion once more. He didn't know where, exactly, he could go… but he was not confident enough in his wisp of a patronus to risk an encounter with the Dementors. He shot past Hagrid's darkened hut, continuing down the hill at a run. The Forbidden Forest was up ahead. Harry didn't know exactly _how_ he knew – but he was certain he'd be safe there. The trees themselves seemed to be exuding some unseen call.

He felt the bitter cold release him, as he dove headlong into their shelter.

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Severus left the dungeons at a run, sprinting through the castle doors and into the grounds. Albus, Minerva and Hagrid were waiting for him at the foot of the long stone steps.

'No werewolf?' Severus growled. 'Afraid he might give in to his affections?'

'Remus is out,' Albus explained coolly. 'He had some business in London this afternoon.'

'How convenient,' Severus mocked.

'Severus –' Minerva began, but Albus cut her off.

'There is little time for trivial debate,' he interrupted. 'Hagrid was the one who spotted Black by the lake. He came for me at once, and the Dementors are already searching. We must split up and aide them. You have left Harry somewhere safe, I presume?' he asked the Potions master.

Severus nodded. 'He will not leave the classroom, and there is no way Black would be able to enter it. I warded it myself.'

'Excellent,' Albus said in approval. 'Well then, I have warded the entrance to the castle; Black should not be able to get inside. Minerva and I will take the grounds – the lake, the quidditch pitch, any of the copses where Black might take refuge. Severus, you and Hagrid should begin your search in the forest. Split up if you can, to cover more ground. The Dementors cannot pass through the trees, so they are less likely to find him if he takes shelter there.'

Severus frowned. 'That seems a liability, headmaster,' he pointed out. 'If Black has deduced that the Dementors cannot track him there, what is to stop him from seeking shelter permanently in the forest?'

Albus shook his head. 'The centaurs and unicorn herds work with magic that differs greatly from our own,' he said. 'But it is equally powerful in its own right. They will not stand for the permanent presence of dark magic in the forest, and they will present an equal danger to the Dementors if Sirius Black has tried to take refuge there.'

But this did not tally with Severus' recollection of previous years.

'The Dark Lord –' he began.

'Was less than spirit when he resided in the Forest,' Dumbledore pointed out. 'Incapable of being attacked. And then, when he shared Quirrell's body, their forays into the forest were fleeting, not permanent. Black is a man still – whatever he may have become. He can be killed.'

 _And would be_ , Severus thought viciously. He drew his wand.

'Is everyone clear?' the headmaster asked. 'Send word at once if you catch sight of Black, and proceed with caution.'

They all nodded, and the little grouping broke apart to their individual duties. Severus sent Hagrid off for the southern portion of forest. He himself took the trees closest to the lake, certain that Black would have fled through there if he'd known he'd been discovered at its edges.

He started along a forest path as he inched his way through the trees, wand out in front of him and ears straining for the sound of another in the wood. For minutes that dragged on endlessly, Severus prowled the darkening path, waiting for his moment to arrive.

'You should not be here, tonight,' a deep voice said from the darkness ahead of him.

Severus pulled up short, fingers twitching on the end of his wand. The voice was not Black's, but Severus thought it sounded familiar.

'Who objects?' he asked, holding his ground.

From the shadows, a centaur emerged. His brilliant chestnut coat gleamed softly in the light from Severus' wand.

'Stand aside, Magorian,' Severus said through gritted teeth. 'I'm looking for Sirius Black. He may have escaped into the forest from the Hogwarts' grounds tonight.'

Magorian tilted his head, considering the wizard. 'The forest harbours only innocents in her trees,' he said.

Severus scowled. 'I think I'd like to check for myself,' he spat, moving to pass the centaur.

Magorian shifted, blocking his way. 'The forest harbours only innocents,' he repeated.

'Move aside,' Severus said again, losing patience.

'You should go, wizard,' the centaur said seriously.

'You will move aside, or I shall _make_ you move aside!' Severus bellowed furiously, pointing his wand at the infuriating creature.

To prove his point, Severus shot a blasting hex at the nearest oak tree. The centaur, showing his first glimpse of emotion since their encounter, looked sadly on as the tree exploded, sending boughs and bits of trunk crashing through the neighbouring brush. Severus turned from the wreckage to face Magorian again, eyes blazing.

And then he heard a voice to chill his very soul.

' _We're in here_!' came Potter's desperate cry, somewhere far to his right. ' _Professor Snape! We're_ –'

The child's pleading summons was cut off suddenly mid-stream. Severus strained his ears again, but there was nothing but the silence of the forest now.

 _How_ had the brat come to be in the forest? _How_ had he – apparently – found Black, when a horde of Azkaban guards, the headmaster, Minerva, Hagrid and himself had not? And _what the hell_ was the foolish, reckless, death-chasing idiot _thinking_ , coming out of his shelter when he _knew_ what they were after in the grounds tonight?

Severus was so thrown by the turn of events that he could hardly decide whether fear or anger was his primary reaction. His heart hammering in his throat beat his terror that they had failed to keep Lily's child from death; that Sirius Black had finished the Dark Lord's work – murdered the last Potter tonight, in the very place they all thought he would be safest. The red that shrouded his vision was screaming at him to throttle the child next chance he got.

'Let me pass,' Severus snarled, recovering his voice enough to address the centaur again.

'I cannot,' Magorian repeated. 'You have no business in this place tonight.'

'There is a _murderer_ in your precious forest tonight!' Severus shouted furiously. 'Or have you no thought for the lives of children?'

The centaur looked balefully back at him. 'We all of us value the life of Harry Potter, however fleeting it may be,' he said ominously. 'Harry Potter is destined to do great things, in the world of the past and the world of the future. It is written in the heavens.'

Severus felt a chill creep up his spine – he _despised_ fortune-tellers.

'If he dies tonight, his blood shall be on _your_ hands!' Severus spat furiously. 'What would your _stars_ say to that, I wonder?'

The centaur looked momentarily uncertain, pawing nervously at the ground.

'Let me pass,' Severus said again, more quietly.

At last, the centaur stepped aside. Breathing a small sigh of relief, Severus rushed past him, throwing himself off the path and crashing through the underbrush in the direction from whence he had heard Potter's terrified voice.

He would _kill_ the boy for leaving the safety of his classroom. But first, he would make sure the brat was not already dead. And first, he would take his revenge.

First, he would murder Sirius Black.

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Harry had wandered far – much farther than he'd originally intended. Any daylight that might have survived the Dementors' presence and the clouded sky was well-shrouded here, deep in the trees of the Forbidden Forest. He had taken a left at the only fork in the path, scared the right might lead him again to that horrible hollow where Aragog and his descendants dwelled… but, of course, he knew not what lay at the end of this winding trail either.

Now that he was away from the Dementors' compressing misery, he was starting to regret his rash decision. He was alone in the middle of the forest, and he had no idea where Dumbledore or Snape or Hagrid or McGonagall or anyone else who might be searching the grounds had got to. Any one of them – with the possible exception of the gamekeeper – was liable to kill him if they found him wandering the trees. He thought about turning back… but the Dementors might be waiting. He would not risk that. Not again.

At long last, Harry stopped at the edge of a clearing. He recognised the growth along the edges – this was where Snape had taken him to forage for potions ingredients. It was as good a place as any to wait, for now. Perhaps one of the searchers would come this direction, and at least there were several flat rocks on which to wait.

Weary with the remnants of wandless magic, the long walk and fading adrenaline, Harry made his way toward the centre of the clearing. He was nearly there when he paused, the hairs on the back of his neck on edge.

Like the last time he'd been in this place, he had the strange sensation that he was being watched. He froze in place, pricking his ears for the sounds of movement.

'I knew you at once, you know,' a rasping voice said from the shadows. 'You look just like him – your father, James.'

Harry whirled, his wand held out before him, searching through the darkened trees for the source of the voice. His heart was hammering against his ribcage, but the hand that held his wand was quite steady.

'Show yourself!' he called, trying to sound braver than he felt. There was a long stretch of silence, as Harry squinted into the trees. Then, very slowly, a figure started to emerge.

It was a man, Harry thought, but only just. But for the slight heaving of his chest, Harry might have thought him vampire. His face was gaunt and almost skeletal, high cheekbones protruding corpse-like from emaciated hollows. He had a long, tangled mat of hair black as the forest around them that fell almost to his elbows. His robes might have also been black once, but they were faded and ragged now with age and abuse, the tattered hem and turn-ups revealing limbs so thin, they looked like a strong wind might snap them. His eyes were steel grey, and oddly familiar. They were also wet.

'Who are you?' Harry asked, though he thought he already knew.

'You do not remember?' the man asked. 'No… I thought not. You were so young, after all. But it is a bit of a disappointment.'

'You're _him_ , aren't you?' Harry spat. 'You're the murderer they're after, the man who killed all those people. You're Sirius Black.'

Something flashed across the man's face, as though Harry had physically slapped him. He paused in his advance, considering Harry closely before he answered.

'I am,' he said at last.

'You've come for me,' Harry said. It wasn't a question.

'I have,' Black confirmed in a whisper. He took another slow step forward, and Harry raised his wand slightly again.

'Not another step!' Harry snarled, feeling his heart thrumming in his ears now. 'Not one more!'

Black looked almost pained, as he stared from Harry's outstretched wand to his face. 'Harry, please,' he said, grey eyes almost beseeching. 'You do not understand. Your father –'

'Don't you talk about my parents!' Harry snarled, his vision reddening. 'They were _murdered_ by your master – you think I don't know what you've done? The people you killed? I don't want to listen to _anything_ you've got to say!'

'It's not what you –'

' _You will move aside, or I shall_ make _you move aside_!'

Black interrupted himself, as the unmistakable sound of Snape's furious voice echoed distantly through the trees, followed by several crashing noises.

' _We're in here_!' Harry shouted desperately, turning from the murderer in front of him to shout in the direction of the ruckus. He had never been more grateful to hear Snape's snarl – no matter that he knew the Potions master would murder Harry himself once they were discovered.

'Harry, no!'

' _Professor Snape! We're_ –'

But he was cut off as something hard slammed into his side and he was thrown to the ground, knocking the wind out of himself. In a back potion of his dazed mind, he realised his mistake in turning his back on the escaped criminal. His wand arm crashed backward as he hit the forest floor, and – to his horror – the holly wand bounced out of his grip on the impact. Groaning slightly, he struggled to regain his feet; but Black had already seized the wand for himself.

' _Silencio_ ,' Black said smoothly, cursing Harry with his own wand. Harry automatically tried to shout – but his voice had gone completely.

'I'm sorry,' Black muttered, crouching down and reaching for Harry.

Harry scrambled back in a crab walk, horrified and scared out of his senses. He could still hear something rustling the underbrush… but it was hard to tell whether Snape had heard him. Black seemed to be listening hard to the approaching searchers too: Harry saw panic cross his face as he contemplated the trees. Desperately, Harry tried to follow Snape's instruction from the afternoon, repeating _Expelliarmus_ over and over in his head.

The wand refused to move.

'Harry, listen to me,' Black said, in a whisper. He bent low over Harry, grasping his forearm. Harry winced at the surprising strength in the grip. He could feel Black's long, dirty fingernails digging into his skin.

'There isn't much time,' Black hissed. 'You can't trust Snape, Harry. He's probably already working with him; they'll _kill_ you if they can. Snape's been dark since childhood, Harry, ever since we were at school. He's dangerous – he's evil. He's a Death –'

There was another, closer sound in the trees, and Black was distracted. Harry took the opportunity to push himself farther away, breaking Black's hold on his arm. Black leapt suddenly to his feet, Harry's wand gripped tightly in his clawed hand. He shifted himself so he was standing over Harry, just as they both saw movement in the trees.

' _Impedimenta_!'

' _Incarcerous_!'

Black's cry and Snape's sounded simultaneously. The two jets of light crashed spectacularly into one another, diverting the course of the curses. Black yanked Harry roughly out of the way of his own deflected spell, while Harry saw Snape dive out of the path of the second, his furious face momentarily illuminated in its blaze.

'Release the boy!' Snape snarled, stepping out of the trees at last. There was a hatred glowing in his eyes unlike Harry had ever seen before. He'd thought the loathing that Snape had always shown for him was unsurpassable… but, clearly, he'd been underestimating the potential of Snape's wrath.

Black gave a mirthless laugh. 'To you?' he asked, his tone almost mocking. 'I don't think so, _Snivellus_.'

The clearing was bathed in light again, as both wizards squared off in another attempt to fell the other. This time, Snape was forced to conjure a shield charm, while Black managed to duck last moment. Whatever curse Snape had tried shot over the top of Black's head, so close that Harry could smell the acrid stench of burnt hair.

'Missed again,' Black taunted. 'Slow as ever, Snivellus.'

'Yet _I_ do not need three fools at my back to succeed in defeating _you_ ,' Snape spat back, swirling his dark robes behind him as he straightened.

Snape shot a jet of red light this time, without speaking. It came so quickly that Harry was shocked Black had the wherewithal to parry it. He managed to deflect the hit again, but the shield charm he'd conjured was neither quick nor strong enough. The spell missed Black, but collided with Harry's own leg. He gave a silent scream of pain as Snape's curse ripped his trousers and right through his calf, leaving a deep, gushing wound. Harry saw Snape's eyes tighten as he watched the scarlet pooling on the ground.

Black roared in almost manic rage, unleashing another of his own spells, and Snape – who was momentarily distracted by Harry's injury – wasn't quick enough this time. He was blasted back off his feet, and crumpled to the ground.

He did not rise.

Harry was starting to shake. With blood loss or terror, he wasn't sure. Black was still standing over him, chest heaving as he held Harry's wand outstretched, staring intently toward Snape's fallen form.

'Hold on, Harry Potter,' came a deep voice from his right. Harry turned his head against the earth, staring into the trees again. A tall, palomino centaur Harry recognised as Firenze stepped from the shadows, his eyes roving between Harry, Black and Snape as he walked slowly toward them. He did not look surprised at the scene.

'Albus Dumbledore approaches,' Firenze informed him, his beautiful blue eyes trapping Harry's gaze. Harry still could not speak, but he nodded minutely in reply.

'You should not be here,' the centaur continued, shifting his gaze from Harry to Sirius Black, who had finally lowered Harry's wand and was now staring at his still-bleeding leg.

'But –' Black began.

'This is not your night, Canis,' Firenze said, still in his calm tone. Harry felt his eyes begin to close… he was so tired, and it was growing cold. Firenze's form was a pale blur against the dark of the forest.

'It is not your time,' the centaur continued. 'And if you do not go, you will not get another.'

Harry was drifting. The forest, the sounds of approaching night; all was fading now… even the fear seemed to be draining from him. But as the darkness carried him off, he thought he heard a soft voice at his ear.

'I will always watch over you,' the voice promised. 'And when He comes, I'll kill him. For them, and for you.'

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'No luck, Minerva?' Albus said, meeting up with her at the edge of the lake.

'Nothing,' she confirmed. 'The Dementors are riled. I wonder if perhaps we should not send them back to their posts, if it seems this evening's search is at an end.'

'Yes,' Albus agreed. 'It appears that if he was in the grounds, Black has certainly gone at this point. We ought to collect Severus and Hagrid and wrap things up.'

'You've heard nothing from them, then?'

'No. And I am sure by now Harry will be rather annoyed at his neglect, and perhaps ready for supper. We should probably –'

Albus broke off, as a brilliant flash of fire erupted in front of them. Fawkes emerged as the flames died away, trilling one long, urgent note and fanning his tail feathers expectantly before them. For one moment, Albus watched him in puzzlement. Then he grabbed Minerva's hand tightly.

'Come,' he said, reaching for the phoenix's tail.

'But what –'

'Hold tight to me,' Albus said urgently. 'There is an emergency.'

In a flash of fire and song, Fawkes swept them away.

In a second spurt of fire, the phoenix deposited Albus and Minerva in a forest clearing. Albus released his hold on the bird at once, steadying Minerva from the abruptness of the landing. Already, his eyes were taking in the scene.

Along the edge of the clearing, Severus was sprawled on his back, apparently unconscious. In the centre, lying against a large rock and covered in blood, was –

' _Harry_!' Minerva cried, rushing toward him and throwing herself to her knees at his side. One hand went at once to his neck, feeling for a pulse. Her shoulders relaxed a fraction, and she moved to cradle his head.

'Do not move him,' Albus said grimly, hurrying to join her and grasping her wrist before she could lift Harry's head. 'Not until we know what has happened to him. He might have injured his spine.'

'Albus – his leg!' she said in horror, gesturing to the bloody tatters of trouser that barely concealed a vicious wound.

'Fawkes can take care of it,' he said, looking around for the phoenix as he pulled his wand for a diagnostic.

Fawkes fluttered obediently down beside them, bending his beautiful head over the gash in Harry's calf. Albus scanned the wand over the child's bruised and bloodied form, while the phoenix tears dripped softly into the wound. He breathed a sigh of relief as he read over the results.

'It's alright,' he assured Minerva. 'He will need some blood replenisher, but the leg wound was the worst of his injuries.'

'Thank Merlin,' she said, moving at once to lift Harry's head and chest off the stone.

'Stay with him while I see to Severus,' Albus instructed her, pulling himself off the forest floor.

He hurried over to the unmoving Potions master, running the same spell down his body. Apart from some minor bruising, it seemed Severus was only stunned.

' _Enervate_ ,' Albus murmured, pointing his wand at Severus' chest. The man's eyes fluttered open. For a moment, he looked up in slight confusion at Albus' face. Then he jumped up so quickly, the headmaster had to steady him on his feet.

'Severus –'

'The boy!' Severus spat, leaning around Albus' arm to see Harry. 'Potter – I – he was hit.'

'Harry will be fine,' Albus assured him. 'Take a moment to recover yourself.'

'No – I,' Severus still looked panicked, and slightly guilty, as he continued to push at the headmaster's restraining grip. 'The bleeding, it will only grow worse. He needs a countercharm immediately – and dittany. Call for dittany. _Sectumsempra_ – it was an –'

'Fawkes has taken care of it,' Albus assured him, though he released his hold on the Potions master. 'Though I wonder how it is that Harry came to be hit with a curse I know to have been _your_ speciality, in darker times.'

Severus' panic seemed to subside as they approached Minerva and Harry, and he saw for himself only smooth, unblemished skin where the gaping wound had been.

'He wasn't supposed to _be_ here,' he snarled, fury and defensiveness taking hold where the panic had evaporated. 'He nearly got himself killed! Nearly got _both_ of us killed! Reckless, arrogant –'

'How was Harry hit?' Albus repeated, his own gaze growing steely.

Severus swallowed. 'I was searching another part of the forest when I heard him call out,' he said. 'When I came into this clearing, he was here. With Black. We duelled. I was hesitant to use a deadly curse – Black was standing over Potter, and using his wand. If I misaimed, I might have hit the boy.'

'So Black is the one who injured Harry?' Albus pressed. 'With _your_ curse?'

Severus crossed his arms. 'If Potter hadn't been in the way, I would have been able to put a stop to this once and for all!' he complained angrily.

'Severus –'

'I hit him!' Severus snarled, throwing his hands up in defeat. 'It was unintentional, obviously. I got caught up in things… trying to end the duel before Black killed both of us. He dodged, and Potter was hit in the deflection. The distraction cost me – I was stunned in the aftermath.'

' _You_ cursed –' Minerva started, looking thunderous as she drew her own wand.

'Enough, Minnie,' said Albus, raising a hand to stay her fury. 'It was an accident, nothing more. We must move Harry now. He needs blood replenishing potion.'

'What of Black?' Severus asked, glaring into the trees.

'There is no point, now,' Albus said heavily, running a weary hand over his face as he bent to lift Harry from the ground. 'He was gone by the time Minerva and I arrived. I doubt we would find him at this stage.'

He lifted Harry off the stone, feeling his back protest a little. The child was still small for his age, but he had grown a great deal since the previous summer, and he was fast leaving childhood. Severus, apparently sensing his struggle, cast a muttered feather-light charm on the boy's body.

'You should not be doing that at your age,' he opined, as Albus shifted Harry in his arms.

He smiled. 'My dear child,' he said to Severus, 'Age is only a number.'

Fawkes hovered down in front of them once more, and Albus nodded for Minerva to grab hold. Severus took her arm, and placed his other hand on Albus' shoulder.

Moments later, the four of them had been deposited in the warm, circular interior of Albus' study. The headmaster moved at once to set Harry on the sofa, while Minerva rounded on Severus once again.

'I cannot believe you, Severus Snape!' she railed.

'Minerva – it was an accident!' Severus retorted, firing up at once. 'And it was _Potter's_ fault, more than anything! He should never have been –'

'He should never have been exposed to _dark magic_ by his _professor_!' Minerva shrieked. 'How can you stand there and say –'

'Fetch the blood replenisher, and a phial of essence of dittany just in case, please, Minerva,' Albus said in a raised voice, carefully laying Harry's head against the pillows as he sought to end the argument.

Minerva set her jaw, but obediently bustled from the room with one last, filthy glare at the Potions master. Severus flung himself into one of the armchairs.

'She's impossible,' he complained, crossing his arms mutinously. 'As if I intended to –'

'Let me make one thing perfectly clear,' Albus interrupted, smoothing back the fringe from Harry's forehead and turning at last to face Severus. 'I care very deeply for you, Severus. And I recognise that the situation tonight may have spiralled out of control, which is why I will not allow Minerva free reign to crucify you for your uncharacteristic and frankly _alarming_ lack of responsible, logical thinking in that clearing.'

He paused, watching the Potions master cringe downward in his seat, as the weight of Albus' disappointment permeated the room.

'I know you _know_ , Severus, that you were mistaken tonight. You rage at Harry for his recklessness… but you should have sent word at once when you found out Black was in that forest. And you should _never_ have exposed Harry to a potentially lethal hex, just because you were embroiled in battle with a schoolboy enemy.'

'Potter shouldn't have _been_ there!' Severus complained. 'And I had no choice but to use what I could, headmaster – Black could have killed us both!'

'There is always a choice, Severus,' Albus said sadly. 'Always. The choice is between what is right, and what is easy. You know as well as I that there were other ways to take down Sirius Black tonight. Spells that would _not_ have caused this sort of damage had they hit the innocent.'

Severus squirmed uncomfortably for a moment, as the silence dragged on. 'I… apologise,' he said at last. 'I should have been more cautious.'

'Yes,' Albus agreed, turning to examine Harry once more. 'And so we are clear, Severus; as much as I love you and value your companionship, if you _ever_ put Harry's life in this kind of peril again, I will kill you myself.'


	14. The Fine Line between Friend and Foe

**A/N:** Thank you again to everyone who read and reviewed! I really appreciate everyone's comments, and the enthusiasm for this story has been wonderful to see! Review responses are post-chapter this time, as this is another long-ish note.

So I have more exciting (and terrifying) news… I had an appointment today (or perhaps yesterday, by the time this posts, as I am currently typing quite late into the night) because my surgeon-husband was a bit paranoid that this level of morning sickness wasn't usual… and he's maybe just a _tad_ overprotective. So we had a scan done and were told we're having _twins_! It's too early to tell gender with certainty, so we don't know if they'll be girls or boys, but the doctor says it looks like they are identical, so they will be the same gender. I can't decide if having two boys would make me more anxious (what if they turn out like Fred and George?!) or two girls (what if they turn out like _me_?!). Multiples apparently can move up the due date timeline a bit, so we're expecting babies to be here around early March. A week of chaos if I've ever had one!

On a story note – you may have noticed that this summer has lasted a _bit_ longer than the last (in part, because SO much has happened since end of term). Things will pick up the pace a little after this chapter… we'll see Harry's Birthday next time, and then we'll be cruising through August (with a few exciting twists and turns) in two to three chapters after that, depending on how long I decide they might be. We should be at autumn term by the time September comes round in the 'real' world, but I do not want to rush the story's progression at the expense of any of the characters' storylines. This book will likely end up around 40-45 chapters, as compared with the 30 in Part I.

In any case, enjoy Chapter 14! And please read and review!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 14: The Fine Line between Friend and Foe**

'Wh – what happened?' Harry asked groggily, as he opened his eyes.

Slowly, it dawned on him that he was lying on Dumbledore's sofa in the headmaster's familiar study. The sky through the mullioned windows was dimmer than he remembered – it looked as though the sun had set while he was out. Albus and Minerva were seated in the chairs opposite, both holding cups of tea. A half-eaten spread on the low table suggested they must have taken supper up here.

'Harry, it is good to see you awake,' Albus said, smiling softly as he set his tea down and walked over to help Harry into a sitting position. 'How are you feeling?'

'Fine,' Harry replied automatically. Minerva gave a tsk of disapproval. 'No, honestly,' he said, taking stock in earnest. 'I… I'm a bit confused. But I don't feel ill.'

'You do not remember what happened in the forest?' asked Albus, his brow contracting.

'I –'

But it all came back to him then. _Sirius Black… Snape… the duel…_

Harry pulled back the blanket someone had laid over him, yanking up the trouser leg of his pyjamas. The skin beneath was whole and unblemished. He frowned.

'I was hit with a spell,' he said, running a hand along his calf. 'Some sort of cutting hex, I think it must have been. They were duelling – Professor Snape and Sirius Black. I think I passed out.'

'Yes,' the headmaster agreed. 'You were unconscious when Minerva and I arrived. Fawkes was able to heal the wound on your leg; you will not suffer any permanent damage. I've spelled several doses of blood replenisher and a phial of essence of dittany into your system, so you may experience some flushing or drowsiness, but it should pass shortly. We did not want to wake you until you were ready to come to on your own. Do you remember anything else about what happened?'

'I was in the forest,' Harry said, lifting confused eyes to meet Albus'. 'I know I shouldn't have been, but I went anyway. And he found me – Sirius Black. He was… strange. Not what I was expecting. He came at me, but he didn't try to kill me. At least, not at first. He didn't have a wand, and I did. Then I called for Professor Snape; I heard him, sir, shouting at someone else in the forest. Black must have charged me while I was distracted. He took my wand. Then he tried –'

But Harry broke off in his recital, as the door to Dumbledore's study burst open.

Remus tumbled into the room, still wearing his travelling cloak, his face white and wild-looking. He was sweaty and slightly breathless, as though he'd just taken the seven flights at a run. His eyes raked the room for a moment before alighting on Harry, and he took the remaining few feet in four long bounds.

'Harry, my God,' he said, throwing himself down beside Dumbledore's ottoman and cupping Harry's cheek. 'Are you alright? You look –'

' _Just like him_ ,' Harry finished in a whisper. He felt cold at the memory.

'Pardon?' Remus asked in confusion, frowning at him. 'What did you say, Harry?'

' _You look just like him, your father_ ,' Harry repeated.

Remus looked frightened. He moved the hand on Harry's cheek to his forehead, as if feeling for fever.

'He feels quite warm,' he decided, turning to address Dumbledore instead. 'Is he –'

'A side effect of blood replenishing potion,' Albus clarified. 'Nothing more.'

'I don't under–'

'That's what he told me – the first thing he said to me when he stepped out of the trees,' Harry explained, scrutinising Remus closely. 'He said, "You look just like him. Your father – James." He sounded _exactly_ like you, Remus. You said something like that too… the first time we met at Hogwarts. You said it in almost the same tone.'

Remus' already drawn face seemed to pale further as he stared in horror at Harry.

'Harry, I swear, it wasn't me. I would never –'

'I know it wasn't,' Harry assured him. He stared deeply into his eyes for a moment. 'But, you know him, don't you? You _know_ Sirius Black. Or you did, when you were kids. He knew Snape… said an awful lot about him, actually. And he obviously knew my dad.'

He glanced around the room: at the arrested, slightly guilty looks on all three faces. Nobody had even moved to correct him for dropping the title from Snape's name.

'What did he say to you?' Minerva asked softly.

Harry glared. 'So, it's true,' he said, crossing his arms. He shrugged out from under Remus' hand. 'They were friends, right? That's why he sounded like you, Remus, when he talked about my dad. It's why he hates Snape so much; my dad didn't like him either. _Why_ didn't anyone tell me?'

'What did he say about your father, Harry?' Albus echoed, putting a hand out to stay Minerva.

Harry shrugged, still feeling mutinous. 'He told me I looked like him. He asked if I could remember him; remember Black,' he rounded on Remus again. 'I didn't get that at first. I was too busy worrying he might _kill_ me. But now… now I think he must have come round when I was a baby, just like you said _you_ did. He was disappointed that I didn't remember.'

'What happened when Severus arrived?' Albus asked quietly.

Harry's anger grew. 'I want to know why you didn't tell me about Black!' he shouted at the headmaster. 'I want to know why I'm _always_ kept in the dark, like a toddler. Were you afraid it would scare me to know my dad's old mate was working for Voldemort? Did you just not think it was important?'

'Harry –' Remus tried to cut in.

'No!' Harry growled, pushing away the hand Remus tried to lay on his shoulder. ' _You_ have been telling me about my parents all summer. You've told me all about your days at school, the visits you made since. How could you not even mention it?'

'I don't like to think about it,' Remus admitted, very quietly. 'I don't like to remember that Sirius – that Black, a man I admired and _thought_ I knew, fell so far from grace. I don't like to think about just how deeply his betrayal cost –'

'Remus.'

Albus' ringing tone drowned the end of Remus' thought. Harry turned to glare at him instead.

'Sirius Black _was_ your father's friend, Harry,' the headmaster said, in a maddeningly understanding tone. 'And he was Remus'. And Peter Pettigrew's. The day he was captured, he murdered over a dozen people, poor Peter included. None of us like to dwell on the atrocities he committed; the many lives we lost because of it. Sirius Black was _my_ friend as well. His actions hurt us all.'

'You still should have told me,' Harry insisted.

'And I would have,' Albus promised him. 'One day, I would have. I did not think you needed the additional stress preying on your mind this summer.'

Harry continued to glower. 'I'm not a child,' he repeated.

'You are,' Albus said softly. He held up his hand again, as Harry bristled at once. 'You are not an infant,' he clarified. 'But you are not yet thirteen, Harry. It is a difficult place to be. There will be times when you cannot know everything. You are not always ready for the information.'

'You're not my father!' Harry shouted. He could feel angry tears brimming in his eyes now, and he hated himself for them.

'No,' Albus agreed, even more softly. 'I am not your father, Harry. Not in the traditional sense. But I _do_ love you. And as hard as it is for you to believe sometimes, I _do_ know you, and what is best for you.'

Harry brushed impatiently at the dampness, refusing to meet the eyes of anyone else in the room. He felt Remus leave his side, and then someone's arms shifting him so they could sit behind him. He realised that Albus had positioned himself behind Harry on the sofa, rubbing gently on his back.

'You need to have something to eat,' the headmaster told him quietly.

'I'm not hungry.'

'Humour me,' Albus insisted. He summoned Mina immediately, requesting sandwiches for Harry and an equally-reluctant Remus, who still looked white and tense. Harry took one with a sigh, ignoring the twinkling in Albus' eyes as he reclaimed his seat beside Minerva to give Harry space to eat.

'When you're finished, it's an early night,' Minerva told him firmly. 'We can discuss the circumstances of your leaving the castle against explicit instruction when you've recovered.'

'I told you – I feel fine,' Harry repeated.

'I know,' said Albus. 'But it has been a difficult day, physically and otherwise. Minerva is right, you need rest.'

For a few minutes, nobody spoke. Then Harry broke the silence again, as he realised what seemed off about this conversation.

'Where _is_ Professor Snape?' he asked, looking around the room in some surprise. He hadn't really registered before that Snape wasn't with them… but now he had, his absence seemed almost odd. 'Was he hurt when Black got him?'

Minerva raised an eyebrow. 'At dinner, I presume,' she said. 'Or perhaps he chose to eat in his own quarters this evening, as we took supper up here. He was only stunned in the forest – the headmaster revived him with no complications.'

There was a tightness in her voice that Harry was unused to hearing – at least outside of term. The Potions master and Minerva were often at loggerheads while their students were at each other's throats… but they usually seemed to get on well over the summer.

'Oh,' he said, shrugging.

'Did you need him for some reason?' Albus asked.

'Not exactly,' said Harry. 'I just… I think he's probably not too happy with me right now.'

'I should say not,' said Minerva, her voice steely. 'And _that_ conversation is not over, Mr Potter. But I think Severus, of all people, has little cause for complaint after –'

'Minerva,' said Albus, interrupting her.

'Albus, he _cursed_ the boy!' Minerva retorted, firing up again. Harry could tell she had been bursting to start this all evening, and – from the look on Albus' face – the headmaster had been expecting it.

'And I have had words with him,' Albus assured her.

'He _what_?' Remus put in, looking shocked. 'Why would _Severus_ –'

'He didn't,' Harry said quickly. 'Well, not really. It wasn't his fault, anyway. They were duelling. Black shot off a shield and it deflected Snape's spell. I was in the path – it wasn't on purpose.'

'What spell?' asked Remus at once, his jaw set.

'Not a spell that he should have been using, particularly with others in the line of fire,' said Albus, with another quelling look at Minerva. 'The situation has been handled. It will _not_ happen again.'

'Black said that Professor Snape can't be trusted,' Harry told them. 'He said he's evil – that he's been bad ever since he was a student at Hogwarts.'

'I trust Severus Snape with my life, Harry,' Albus said seriously. 'He is not evil.'

'I know,' said Harry quickly. 'I mean, he's not always nice to me,' he clarified. 'But I know he's not a dark wizard, anyway. I just thought it was an odd thing to say. All of it, really. Why was Black concerned with trying to turn me against Snape? Why not just kill me outright, if that's what he came here to do? He stalled so long, one of the centaurs found us – Firenze. He told Black to go if he wanted to see another day, or something like that. He said you were on your way. Then I think I must have passed out…'

'Firenze told him to go?' Remus said, frowning at Albus. 'Why?'

'There are several possibilities, in my opinion,' said Dumbledore. 'As I told Minerva and Severus this afternoon, centaur magic works in strange ways. It is part of the forest's protection. Wizards with evil intent may pass through the forest, as Voldemort himself has done, but they cannot usually seek shelter in the trees with any sort of permanence.'

'And the other possibility?' Minerva asked.

'Is by far the more intriguing,' Albus said, 'And the more worrisome. Centaurs are, of course, very devoted to Divination – and much more proficient at it than wizards. It is possible they have seen some sort of greater plan for Sirius Black… something that would not be conducive to continuing a duel in the forest.'

'Divination,' Minerva scoffed, clearly disapproving. 'Preposterous. You ought to have a word with the head of their herd, Albus.'

'I could try,' Albus said doubtfully. 'But they are not usually inclined to share the secrets of their trade with any wizard. It is considered to be against their code, and the will of the stars.'

'Surely you can deduce the truth by other means?' Remus put in.

'No,' Albus disagreed. 'Legilimency does not work on a centaur, and I would not dare to bewitch one of the herd. We have managed to coexist peacefully with the centaurs of the Forest for centuries. I would not risk testing the tenets of that friendship now.'

'But… it's still odd, isn't it?' Harry asked, his mind still on the interaction with Sirius Black. 'I mean, why wouldn't Black just kill me straight away? Why warn me off Snape first?'

'As to that, I have no idea,' said Albus quietly.

'Maybe he was more unhinged by Azkaban than we imagined,' said Minerva. 'After all, he _was_ there for more than a decade.'

'Perhaps,' Albus allowed. But Harry thought there was something off in his voice… that, perhaps, he thought more of this strange occurrence than he was telling them.

'I wish he hadn't taken my wand,' Harry said grudgingly. 'I was such a fool to let it –'

'He didn't,' Minerva said, surprised. She reached a hand into the pocket of her robes, pulling Harry's familiar holly wand from its depths. Harry stared.

'Where did you find it?' he asked, equal parts incredulous and delighted as he retrieved it from her.

Minerva smiled. 'It was lying just by your hand,' she said. 'I took it for safekeeping.'

'So, Black left it behind?' Remus said, looking sideways at Dumbledore. 'That seems rather strange.'

'Indeed,' Albus agreed, staring at the wand with a frown as Harry twirled it between his fingers. 'Very strange, indeed.'

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'Quite a to do up at the castle today, I hear,' Aberforth greeted him gruffly, as Albus entered the pub near last orders. 'Your boy recovered alright?'

'Harry is well,' Albus assured him, taking an end stool at the bar with a weary sigh. 'Though I wonder you have heard tell of the events already… I thought I would be bringing the news.'

Aberforth snorted. 'I got sources that are a bit more forthcoming, Albus. Occupational perk.'

'Ah, Hagrid has been by then, I take it?'

Aberforth merely grunted in reply, summoning up a bottle of mead and sending it to fill two rather dusty glasses. Albus took his gratefully, clinking at against his brother's. They drank in amiable silence for a time.

'So, come all the way down just to relate the tale?' Aberforth asked shrewdly as he refilled their glasses. 'Or did you have some other reason to visit?'

'Oh, I just thought it was time I paid a call,' he said lightly, taking a sip from the mead. 'And I have an appointment later in the evening outside the castle. I rather needed somewhere to pass the time. Minerva is in a bit of a temper, and Harry has gone to bed.'

'Not feeling too chummy with your pet snake at the moment?' Aberforth guessed, disapproval heavy in his expression.

'Not especially,' Albus agreed tightly. 'I dare say Severus could use an evening of quiet reflection.'

Aberforth grumbled something under his breath in reply, flicking his wand to start the washing up as he settled heavily onto the adjacent stool.

'How's the boy getting on?' Aberforth asked. 'Other than his penchant for landing himself in fatal situations?'

Albus chuckled. 'Well enough,' he said. But he sobered again on remembering the conversation that evening. 'He has been asking questions,' he confided. 'About Sirius Black. He deduced from their interaction this afternoon that his father and Black had known each other at school. He was angry that I did not disclose the connection earlier.'

'And why didn't you?' Aberforth asked, crossing his arms with a glower.

'Because I did not think it would benefit Harry to know,' Albus said honestly. 'I was intending to work up to it slowly, to get him ready for the information.'

'And did you tell him now, Albus?' Aberforth continued. 'Have you told him _everything_?'

'No,' said Albus quietly. 'Not yet.'

Aberforth frowned. 'You play your cards too close to your chest, Albus!' he accused, pointing a finger in his face. 'I've been saying it for years. That boy has the right to know – you should have told him the day Black broke out.'

'He is twelve, Aberforth,' Albus retorted, looking nervously around the pub even though he knew it to be empty. 'Some things –'

'Don't play those games with me, Albus,' Aberforth said, slamming a hand on the bar. 'It's no wonder the kid is angry – what did you think would happen? You haven't changed, you know that? Bits and pieces… scraps of information. _Who_ does it benefit, eh? Keeping this to yourself? Keeping the boy under your thumb, at the mercy of your personal chess match? The _Greater_ –'

'You will regret it if you finish that statement,' Albus interrupted in a steely voice, half-rising from his chair. 'I have been told my patience is admirably strong, but I am afraid it has been tested heavily tonight already. I have nothing left to spare; not least to entertain an argument as to whether I am not putting Harry's best interests at the forefront of _everything_ I do – every decision I have made since taking him in.'

Aberforth relented a bit, though he still looked surly. 'Fine,' he said, grudgingly. 'We'll leave it there, I suppose. But… just consider, Albus. Consider what you're really doing, shielding him from the truth.'

'I am protecting Harry's innocence,' said Albus, more softly. 'I am protecting what semblance of a childhood he has left. He will have precious little time to enjoy it – him less than most. And he has had little childhood to speak of already. He has far too many burdens for one so young. And will shoulder far too many more in the future. You – you can have no idea what that is like, Aberforth.'

'I know all about harsh reality, Albus,' Aberforth grumbled. 'I know of the costs of war. I know the cost of _your_ wars.'

'Aberforth,' Albus pleaded wearily. 'Don't, please. I cannot speak of it tonight.'

They sat in awkward silence for several long minutes.

'I do hope your business has not been too badly affected by the Dementors' presence,' Albus offered courteously, trying to break the tension. 'Rosmerta has been rather displeased, I'm afraid.'

Aberforth shrugged. 'Not much to complain about here,' he said. 'Rosmerta's always had a different sort of crowd, mind. Too much merriment for me. Most of my regulars have so many demons already, Dementors don't make much difference either way. And the ones that are scared off are the ones I usually spend the night keeping a watch on, so it makes things easier from that end.'

Albus raised an eyebrow. 'A novel way of looking at it, I suppose,' he said. 'I would not have labelled you for an optimist.'

'People surprise you every day, Albus,' Abe said gruffly. 'Trusting that you know 'em… that's the real mistake.'

'A man is like a novel: until the very last page you cannot know how it will end.'

'Zamyatin,' Aberforth grunted. 'I've told you before Albus, get some new quotes.'

Albus chuckled, draining the last of his mead. He chanced a glance at his watch.

'I should go,' he said, shifting himself off the stool.

'Where are you off to, so late?' Aberforth asked, watching with a frown as Albus fastened his cloak.

Albus hesitated, and Aberforth's frown grew more pronounced.

'More secrets?' he guessed.

'Not precisely,' said Albus. 'But I am not sure you truly wish to know.'

Aberforth crossed his arms, glaring. 'You're seeing _him_ again, then?' he accused in a snarl.

'I am,' Albus admitted. 'It has proved… useful, to some degree. I have been twice now. Both visits have given me much to think about. Aid I can attribute to you, of course, as you were the one who suggested renewing the contact,' he reminded him.

Aberforth grunted, turning to pick up a discarded rag on the bar. 'Fine,' he said grudgingly. 'See your devil. But don't forget what he is, Albus. Don't forget that anything, _anything_ , he tells you – he gets something in return. Help; information… it shan't come free from him. It never has. Someone will pay the price.'

'I know,' Albus agreed. Uncharacteristically, he reached a hand across the wooden counter, squeezing gently on Aberforth's arm. His brother looked surprised at the contact – it had been years since they'd shared any sort of embrace.

'I do not forget, Aberforth,' he promised him. 'Not ever.'

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The incessant knocking continued unabated, pounding into his very skull.

Severus groaned and turned his head determinedly into the coolness of the leather cushions of the sofa, refusing to acknowledge the summons. They were too heavy-handed for the headmaster's fist – and Severus knew with near certainly that Albus would be leaving him to stew. Minerva would have spelled the door ajar by now… and, in any case, she would be occupied for the night seeing to it that her precious Golden Boy had no lingering effects from his _ordeal_ this afternoon. Potter would be long to bed by now. Hagrid would have given up; Filch would never dare to continue; and he had never in his life seen Trelawney below the ground floor.

That left only one possibility.

'Severus, I know you're in there!' the visitor growled from the corridor. 'Open the door.'

Severus snapped his eyes open against the dark leather, but did not move.

'Severus, if you do not open this door in the next ten seconds, I will use the floo,' the wolf threatened.

With another groan, Severus heaved himself off the sofa, stumbling a bit as he gained his feet. He threw open the door with a snarl.

'If a wizard chooses _not_ to answer a caller,' he said through gritted teeth. 'It is common courtesy to leave that man in peace.'

'Good evening, Severus,' Lupin said, his own voice just as strained. 'Might I come in?'

The Potions master considered refusing the request, but Lupin – apparently sensing the imminent dismissal – pushed past him and into the sitting room before Severus could slam the door closed. His eyes scanned the small space disdainfully, particularly the nearly empty decanter and half-full tumbler on a corner of the table.

'What do you want, Lupin?' Severus growled. He followed the werewolf over to the sitting room, but did not retake his seat on the sofa. 'You are not due to pick up another round of potions for some days yet.'

'That is not why I am here,' Lupin said. His eyes still blazed in barely-suppressed fury.

'What then?' Severus snapped, his own temper less well-controlled. 'Why have you come here?'

'To ask you what happened this afternoon,' the wolf said bluntly. He too remained standing, and Severus could not help but notice that his hand fingered a side pocket of his robes.

'I should have thought that obvious,' Severus spat. He crossed his arms.

'Your precious Potter disobeyed instruction, _again_ , he put himself into danger, _again_ , and in the process ruined any chance we had to halt a murderer in his quest to continue bloodshed. Does that sum it up clearly enough for you?'

'It leaves out a few key details, I must admit,' Lupin replied coolly. He took a step closer to Severus. 'I want to know what spell you cast on him, Severus,' he said in a dangerous tone. 'I want to know why it was necessary for the headmaster to give him essence of dittany and _four_ blood replenishing potions, in addition to phoenix tears.'

Severus snorted. 'The boy is fine,' he said impatiently. 'And _I_ would like to know a few things too, Lupin,' he said, taking a step closer himself. ' _I_ would like to know how Black managed to get so close to the castle today – how he was spotted lounging around in the grounds as if he owned the place. I wish to know how he's so _familiar_ with a safe path through the forest.'

'What are you implying, Severus?' Lupin growled.

'You know perfectly well what I'm saying!' Severus railed. 'I never trusted you, you know. _Never_. I thought it supremely foolish of Dumbledore to bring you here… but he always had a soft spot for the downtrodden didn't he? And he always favoured you – all of you. His precious Gryffindor brats. And never mind what havoc you heaped upon the rest of us.'

'You were hardly less aggressive, Severus,' Lupin pointed out angrily. 'And we were children. I have nothing – _nothing_ – to do with Sirius' current actions. I want him captured as badly as you do!'

'I do not want him _captured_ , you thick-headed fool!' Severus snarled, leaning so close to Lupin now that the wizards were nearly nose to nose. He could see flecks of his own spit hit Lupin's cheeks in his rage. 'I want him _destroyed_! I want to _KILL HIM MYSELF_!'

Lupin furrowed his brow, staring at the Potions master. His face – so angry only moments before – now looked quite impassive. He sniffed.

'You are drunk,' he said, frowning at Severus.

Severus rolled his eyes. 'How astute,' he mocked sarcastically.

'Why?' the wolf asked.

Severus glared. 'As these are _my_ rooms, and this _my_ summer holiday, I'm not sure I owe anyone an explanation, Lupin. Least of all meddlesome, uninvited guests.'

Lupin continued to stare, as though Severus were a puzzling riddle he could not quite solve. The intensity of the scrutiny unnerved him.

'You can _go_ ,' he pressed.

'No,' said Lupin simply.

Severus growled again, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. 'Lupin, I've rather a headache,' he said icily. 'I have neither the patience nor inclination for pointless conversation this evening.'

'Tell me what you did to Harry,' Lupin repeated, 'And I will leave.'

Severus glared. 'Potter was in the way, Black deflected a cutting curse, Potter was hit,' he said in quick succession. 'Now, get out!'

'A cutting curse,' Lupin repeated, disbelief clear in his tone. 'You are telling me a common _cutting curse_ caused that injury? You must have a remarkably powerful wand, or Harry uncannily poor luck.'

Severus stared hard at Lupin – but either he was too inebriated for the attack, or Lupin had better Occlumency shields than Severus would have thought possible.

'It was not a usual cutting curse,' he admitted finally.

He didn't know why he was telling the werewolf – he didn't owe him anything. He didn't want another lecture. But the words left him before he could stop them.

'I used _Sectumsempra_.'

Lupin's face paled, even as his eyes grew furious once more. 'Severus, how could you?' he breathed, horrified. 'That is dark, _dangerous_ magic.'

Severus rolled his eyes. 'Obviously I know that,' he said dryly. 'As _I_ invented the curse.'

'When you were a Death Eater,' Lupin pointed out. 'When you were a very different person than you are now. When you served Lord –'

'Careful, wolf!' Severus barked, as his right hand twitched convulsively toward his left arm. 'You are in _my_ quarters, and you will not speak the Dark Lord's name.'

The wolf was also incorrect, although Severus did not alter his impression. He had developed _Sectumsempra_ while still at Hogwarts; it was one of the curses he'd used to impress the Dark Lord into granting him a place at his side. So young, so proud, so eager… and so incredibly foolish.

'Severus – someone might have been killed!' Lupin pointed out.

'That was the _intention_!' Severus said, shouting again. 'I told you, Lupin. And I nearly had him… I was so close. If Potter hadn't –'

'Is a schoolboy rivalry worth that risk?' asked Lupin quietly. He was staring at Severus in horror, as though seeing a monster he had never recognised before. 'Is it worth becoming a murderer to win? Is it worth _Harry_ 's life?'

'Potter is fine,' Severus said again. 'He has made a full recovery already.'

'That is not the point,' Lupin said. ' _You_ were knocked unconscious. Harry was alone… if Albus and Minerva hadn't arrived in time… if they hadn't had Fawkes in the forest with them… don't you see what almost came to pass? Don't you _care_?'

'Of _course_ I see it!' Severus spat, turning away from the accusatory gaze. 'Potter should not have been there, as I keep telling Albus! And you – where were _you_?' he countered, whirling about to face the wolf again, back on the offensive. ' _You_ missed the action, I notice. Conveniently out of the castle, weren't you? Conveniently unable to come to the Golden Boy's rescue… so I had to step in to save Potter from his own foolishness, just like I have _always_ had to. Now you accuse _me_ of putting him at risk? You have some nerve, wolf.'

Lupin narrowed his eyes. 'You do care,' he said.

' _What_?' Severus spat.

'You care that he was hurt,' Lupin clarified. 'That's why you got hit yourself, isn't it?'

'Black got lucky,' Severus said darkly. 'That is all.'

'No,' Lupin disagreed. 'It isn't. Sirius has been in Azkaban for over ten years… he's been on the run for weeks. His powers have likely atrophied – it would take months, maybe years, to recover them in full. He was using a wand which does not recognise his authority.'

'How do you know –'

'I saw it tonight, when Minerva returned the wand to Harry,' he explained. 'It received him still; it remains his own, and his alone. So, how would a weakened wizard with an uncooperative wand defeat a fitter enemy?'

He paused, examining Severus' face closely. Severus kept his expression blank.

'You were distracted,' Lupin guessed. 'You saw Harry hit, and it cost you your advantage.'

'Potter was bleeding,' Severus allowed. 'Perhaps it was a distraction, but that does not counter the fact that he should _never_ have been in that forest to begin with. And he would not have been, if not for his own recklessness. That is not _my_ fault!'

'No,' Lupin agreed. 'It isn't your fault that Harry disobeyed, or that he was captured. But you cast the spell that spilled his blood, and that is why you've drunk yourself into oblivion tonight.'

'Because I _care_ that the Golden Boy was in a few minutes' distress?' Severus mocked in disgust. 'Hardly, Lupin. I drink because we missed a perfect opportunity today, all because the idiotic brat got in the way.'

'You drink because you hurt him, Severus,' the wolf disagreed. He turned for the door with a maddening expression of satisfaction on his face.

'You drink because you were in the wrong, and you know it. And you are sorry for it.'

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'I sent the missive days ago, Albus,' Grindelwald complained as the headmaster shut the door quietly behind him. 'What has delayed you so long?'

Albus frowned. 'As it would happen, I have been rather busy of late.'

'So I have heard,' Grindelwald acknowledged, a slight smile breaking over his face. 'Eventful time in Britain, isn't it?'

'Indeed,' Albus agreed coolly. 'Which is why, Gellert, I have little patience for intrigue tonight. Your message requested an urgent meeting. What is it you wished to discuss?'

'A few things, Albus,' the wizened man replied, nodding his head toward the wooden chairs. 'First, I gather you retrieved your boy from his relations' home?'

'Yes,' Albus admitted. 'He stayed a week, which should be long enough for the bond to strengthen. I would not have had him there any longer.'

'No, certainly not,' said Gellert delicately. 'Not if a mere week in their presence had already brought forth a notable display of wandless magic. They must be some pair of Muggles… to garner such reaction.'

Albus narrowed his eyes. 'How did you come by that information, Gellert?'

The old wizard smiled. 'Patience, Albus,' he said softly. 'If I reveal _all_ my secrets, how can I know you will ever return? And I do so enjoy our conversation – it is an excellent diversion from the mundane.'

He broke off momentarily, as Lakai appeared with their customary tea. When the little elf had gone again, he fixed Albus with those vivid violet eyes over the rim of his cup.

'So,' he continued. 'An interesting development, wouldn't you say? Or did you already know the child possessed a talent for wandless casting?'

Albus hesitated a moment. 'It is… not a new phenomenon,' he said carefully.

'I thought not,' Grindelwald said, his sinister smile growing. 'An uncommon gift, especially in one so young. You should hone it straight away. These talents are best nurtured early, and dangerous if not – particularly if the child's magic is strong.'

'Yes, thank you,' said Albus curtly. 'Being a highly accomplished wizard and professor myself, I _have_ deduced as much. He is already being trained in the skill.'

'There is no need for discourtesy, Albus,' said Grindelwald with a frown. 'Really, you are not yourself tonight.'

He stared into the headmaster's eyes, boring deeply. Albus reinforced his shields, but did not look away. The silence dragged on.

'What has happened to disturb you so, Albus?' Gellert asked quietly. If Albus were not wary of every word that came out of this man's mouth, he might have found concern in the tone.

Instead, he forced a more neutral expression. 'Nothing of particular significance,' he said airily. 'But I am afraid this business with Sirius Black's escape has left us all rather on edge. It is taking much of my time and energy of late.'

'Yes, I imagine it must be stressful,' Grindelwald said, still studying Albus' eyes. 'As, if the rumours are true, it is believed he comes for the Potter boy.'

'That is the general impression from the Azkaban guards,' Albus admitted. 'But they are searching for him, as is half the Ministry. And my own colleagues, of course.'

'They are not the only ones on the hunt,' Grindelwald said casually. He leaned back against the chair, crossing one leg over the other as he refilled his tea with a lazy flick of his wrist.

Albus frowned. 'What do you mean, Gellert?'

Grindelwald smiled. 'There are whispers in London,' he told the headmaster. 'Very intriguing rumours. Gatherings in pubs and darkened alleys… groups of men and women who generally prefer to go unnoticed, or – at least – with their associations unrecognised.'

'I am aware of the restlessness,' Albus assured him, refilling his own cup. 'It is not as uncommon an occurrence as it seems. There are always mutterings and rumours whenever those who would prefer Lord Voldemort's rule get some sort of hint that the dark side may be rising again. Sirius Black's escape may be the most ominous of signs in recent history, but it is hardly the first to stir such reaction.'

'They do not seek to aid Black,' Gellert disagreed. 'At least – not all of them, from the whispers I have heard. They seek his destruction; some more ardently than the Minister himself.'

Albus raised an eyebrow. 'Why?' he wondered aloud. 'Black is among the more talented in the remaining Death Eater contingent. He could be useful, if they sought to rekindle their power.'

Gellert shrugged. 'Perhaps they are angry,' he suggested. 'Perhaps they hold him responsible for their master's end. Voldemort went to the Potters' on Black's information, and he was ruined by their son – Black's godchild. Or, perhaps, he has further information. Information the Death Eaters and sympathisers do not wish the Ministry to obtain. They may fear he will give it up.'

'It is… possible,' Albus said slowly. 'There was never a trial, you know. Sirius Black was not interrogated. He was given straight to the Dementors. He could have been sitting on valuable information for years, though I cannot see why he would wait so long if that were the case.'

Now Gellert raised an eyebrow. 'No trial?' he said, surprised. 'That seems rather unlike you, Albus.'

'They held an evidence hearing, in absentia,' Albus clarified. 'It was rather commonplace, actually, during the days when the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was led by Bartemius Crouch and the threat from Voldemort's side was imminent. The Minister and a majority of the Wizengamot voted to grant the MLE the ability to detain prisoners without trial, and without habeas rights. I was against the decision, but I was one of the lone dissenters, and we lost the vote. In any case, Black was not present for the evidence proceeding. A number of ministry officials and witnesses gave evidence of what occurred on the first of November, and I myself testified that he had been the Potters' Secret-Keeper. The panel determined there was sufficient evidence to support a conviction, and Black was left in Azkaban. As Voldemort had vanished, there seemed to the Ministry no reason to question Black further. I myself have not seen him since several days before the Potters were killed.'

'So, there is no possibility the Death Eaters could believe Black has double-crossed them? Turned back to your Order?' Gellert pressed.

'No…' Albus said, trailing off in thought. 'Well, I suppose they might have inferred treachery from the consequences of Voldemort's visit to the Potters'… but I doubt they believe Black to have been working for me. I certainly would not have left him in Azkaban, were that the case.'

'And,' Gellert hesitated, looking closely at Albus. 'There is absolutely no chance that Sirius Black was not their spy, after all?'

'Impossible,' said Albus immediately. 'The evidence against him was incontrovertible. He was certainly the Potters' Secret-Keeper – James Potter told me so himself. And you know how the enchantment works; Black had to reveal the information willingly and without interference. He certainly did so, or Voldemort could not have attacked that night. And in any case, more than a dozen people witnessed what happened the following day. Sirius Black is not an innocent man.'

Albus' thoughts were drawn back to the strange events in the forest. There was something odd in it, to be sure; some piece he was missing. But it did not change what he _knew_ to be true.

'He is Potter's godfather,' Gellert said pensively. 'Is there something in that? Does he have claims to the child?'

Albus shook his head. 'Not anymore. Harry's guardianship is legally with Petunia Dursley, and with myself. Black could not challenge that without a reversal of the charges against him. The title is ceremonial only, at this point.'

'Does the boy know?'

'No,' said Albus, feeling his patience wearing thin again.

'Albus, you should –'

'Please leave the decisions regarding Harry to me,' Albus said firmly. ' _I_ shall decide if, and when, Harry needs to know such information. The time has not yet come.'

Gellert smirked again. 'I take it I am not the first to offer such suggestion,' he quipped. 'Very well, Albus. Your parenting decisions are your own.'

'I am not Harry's –'

'Let me just say this,' Gellert interrupted. 'I care not for whatever moral question there may be in sharing the information. But watching what the boy does with it… that could be quite interesting. Quite informative even, I think.'

Albus was horrified. 'Gellert, Harry is twelve,' he pointed out. 'This is not some twisted experiment. It is not a test to put him through.'

'Not yet,' Gellert acknowledged. 'But it _could_ be, if you go about it correctly.'

'No,' Albus said icily. 'I would never –'

'Don't get on your high hippogriff, Albus,' Gellert mocked. 'You have done it before – allowed him to test his strengths; evaluated his weaknesses. It is your trademark, and I mean no insult by that. There is no shame in it.'

Albus felt his temper reaching breaking point. The room began to chill.

'I have endeavoured to teach Harry, _very_ carefully,' he said quietly, in a tone that still rung with power. 'I will admit, at times, that has involved his being too close to dangerous situations for my comfort… and, sometimes, that has been necessary. He is of great importance, as I am sure you have guessed. He has talents that must be advanced and strengthened; lessons that must be learned. But I will _not_ rip his heart in two and send him off into the world – just to watch which way the pieces will fall.'

'You are too close,' Gellert accused. He seemed superbly unfazed by the clearly growing danger in the headmaster's expression, calmly stirring his tea. 'You love him. It has blinded you. You forget that sometimes giving someone wings and letting them leap from the precipice is the only way to discover whether or not they can soar.'

'He is _twelve_ , Gellert,' Albus repeated.

'And what were _you_ like, Albus, at twelve years old? How much had _you_ accomplished?' Grindelwald countered. 'He is young, of course, but the boy has already shown promising skill. If you wish for him to face the Dark one day, you ought to give him a chance to test his wings. Find out just how he will fly under the pressure. Tell him everything, give him the tools, and see what he does with them. It is not as though you won't be there to pick up the pieces if it goes wrong.'

'I do not intend to make Harry an Icarus,' Albus said. 'I will not craft him wings of wax, and set him to follow an unsteady path before he has learned how to navigate for himself. I will not watch him fall into the sea because he cannot plot the perilous course between complacency and hubris, Gellert. As I myself once did.'

'You did not fall, Albus,' Gellert retorted. 'You dove. You could have had everything – could have taken the sun itself. _You_ gave it up. It was not pride or recklessness that brought you down. It was emotion. Just as it is emotion that holds you back today.'

Albus felt his heartrate accelerate… he should not have allowed discussion in such a direction. These were dangerous waters.

'It was reality,' Albus disagreed. 'And the fatal consequences of my own foolish arrogance. But I do not regret the direction my life has taken. I am a better man for it. I regret only that it came at a terrible cost. And I will not put Harry through such a test.'

Gellert shrugged. 'Suit yourself,' he said indifferently. 'But I think you are making a mistake.'

Albus stood, setting aside the now-empty cup of tea.

'Another intriguing conversation, Gellert,' he said, swinging his cloak around his shoulders. 'You have left me with much to consider, but I am afraid I must return to Hogwarts.'

'You'll be in touch, I take it?' said Gellert, standing as well and watching Albus ready his departure with an air of disappointment. 'I shall keep my eyes open, in the meantime.'

'Indeed,' said Albus drily, giving a nod as he turned to go.

To his shock, Gellert lunged suddenly forward, grasping his hand in a firm shake. He allowed it, though it gave him goose pimples – to touch this man's skin after so many decades… so much spilled blood. He was almost surprised to find them dry.

'Icarus flew too close to the sun, Albus,' Grindelwald said enigmatically, his violet eyes locked on Albus'. 'But, at least, he flew.'

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 **Chapter 13 Review Responses:**

 **ChipmonkOnSpeed** : Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far! Harry's so fun to write when he's indignant when others are in the right… it's getting particularly interesting to get into his mind now that he is growing older.

 **Lollypops101** (Ch. 12): Thank you! I'm glad you liked that – it won't be the last Sirius flashback we see… chapter 15 will have at least one.

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for both your reviews! Happy you liked the Albus bit… I think, sometimes, it's easy to forget in all his 'Merlin-ness' (for both us and, sometimes, for the characters) that Albus is _not_ an epitome of benevolence… even he has his limits.

 **AlsoKnownAsMatt** : Thank you for reviewing again! Same comments as above, really… I see Albus as an incredibly tolerant and understanding man (years of wisdom, etc.), but there are limits involved – particularly where Harry is concerned. I think it was important for both his own and Severus's development in this story for those limits to be reached, and acknowledged. I hope you like the continuation.

 **AECM** : Thank you! I think you've probably got your immediate answer from the above chapter… but certainly there's a way to go.

 **LordTicky** : Thanks for reviewing! I hope you continue to like the story as we progress. I'm going to take a pass on your question, as I don't want to spoil it… but feel free to message me if you'd like my answer in private.

 **Wide Eyed and Curious** : Thank you so much for the review and well wishes! I hope you liked the new chapter.

 **MotherBear** : Thank you for your review! I think many of your queries have now been answered… but as for those final words from Sirius, we have still not heard Harry mention them. Does he know what was said? Does he remember? We'll find out very soon.

 **Psitomer** : Thank you for your review, and for the link to the other fanfic! I will definitely check it out. Yes, Sirius certainly has some issues to work through… and Severus… well, I think I've put him through the ringer enough this instalment, but clearly he made some miscalculations. And he knows it. Harry – he still hasn't had his lecture yet. Or seen Snape. That should be fun… And best of luck on your projects!

A huge thank you as well to those Guests who reviewed!


	15. As the Seventh Month Dies, Part One

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed Chapter 14, and for your continued support! I'm trying to get through the rest of the summer before September comes, so I will do my best to keep the updates speedy over the next fortnight.

Not a ton to update on from a personal side since my last posting… still dealing with morning sickness (which REALLY sucks), some headaches, and I'm _really_ tired, but I've been told all of that is pretty normal for this stage of pregnancy, especially if you're carrying twins. I'm not showing much yet, which is a good thing, as we haven't really told anyone (outside of my cheating with revealing the news here, of course). I just entered week nine… so I'm hoping we can hold out three more weeks. I _might_ have to tell my boss earlier, if I keep almost falling asleep at my desk!

Chapter 14 responses are post-chapter, as there are quite a few of them that are very lengthy. It's so wonderful to read the reactions and reviews, and thank you so much for posting them!

I hope everyone enjoys Chapter 15 – we have some more flashback action! Part Two will be posted shortly… the chapter was a bit too long and too intense for one go, but I won't leave the cliff-hanger longer than a day or two, if I can manage it.

 **Warning: Some language and graphic scenes.**

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 15: As the Seventh Month Dies, Part One**

 _'Feel, right here,' Lily said, reaching for Sirius' hand. He jumped backwards as though she might scald him._

 _'It's – it's alright, Lily, I'm good,' he said awkwardly, going a bit red._

 _James laughed. 'Scared, Padfoot?'_

 _'No!' Sirius said stubbornly. 'But I'm not gonna feel up your wife, Prongs.'_

 _'Oh, Sirius!' Lily scoffed. 'It's my stomach, not my breast for Merlin's sake. And he's kicking like mad, you don't want to miss it.'_

 _'Go on,' James encouraged._

 _Hesitantly, Sirius reached out his hand. Lily grabbed it and placed the flat of his palm against her robes. He was almost shocked by how firm her quaffle of a belly was beneath them – it had grown so much in the past seven months. For a moment, he felt nothing. Then, quite suddenly, there was a sharp nudge against his hand. He almost yanked it back in surprise, but Lily held him still._

 _'Did you feel him?' she asked, her eyes almost swimming._

 _'I – yeah,' Sirius said, jolted again as the baby gave another kick. 'That's – holy shit, Lils, doesn't that hurt?'_

 _Lily gave a tinkling laugh. 'Sometimes,' she admitted. 'If he gets me in the ribs. But that only tends to happen at night. It's amazing, isn't it? He's so strong already.'_

 _'Amazing…' Sirius repeated, rubbing the spot a bit in spite of himself. Suddenly realising what he was doing, he let his hand drop. 'I, er.'_

 _Lily laughed again, giving him a swift peck on the cheek before hurrying off for the kitchen._

 _'It's alright,' James assured him, grinning at the odd look on his face. 'I couldn't quite wrap my head around it the first time she had me feel him either.'_

 _'Just wait until he's out,' Sirius warned with a smirk. 'Then he'll be kicking you.'_

 _James laughed, looking a little dazed. 'I can't believe it's only a month or so to go now.'_

 _'Believe it,' Lily called from the kitchen. 'And get a move on, because I'm not baby-proofing this cottage on my own!'_

 _'You_ sure _you don't want to move back in?' James asked, giving Sirius a slightly terrified look._

 _'Absolutely,' Sirius said, already backing for the door. 'Besides, if I don't have my own flat, whose place is he going to run off to when you lot are too much to handle?'_

 _'You can have your own room,' James grumbled. 'He can run there.'_

 _'Can't do,' Sirius pointed out. 'You've gone and made it a nursery already, haven't you? And I'm not taking that mobile down again until the moment he turns eighteen; it took us half a day to figure it out.'_

 _'Only two hours,' James protested._

 _'That was the cot,' Sirius reminded him. 'And we only did_ that _so fast because Dumbledore turned up and sorted it.'_

 _'Take the guest room?' James suggested. 'We never have anyone to stay. And it'll be an excellent opportunity to put off Petunia… not that she needs an excuse to stay away.'_

 _'No can do,' Sirius said, still grinning. 'What if she comes anyway? What if she wants to bunk in_ with me _? I love you mate, and I love Lils, but there's no way I'm shagging her sister.'_

 _He sobered a bit as he recognised the true worry in James' eyes. 'Relax, Jamie,' he said, squeezing his shoulder. 'You know I'll always be around, if you need me.'_

 _'James – get in here NOW!'_

 _'Have fun with the baby-proofing,' Sirius said with a wicked grin. And he threw himself through the door before Lily could call him back._

Sirius woke again in a cold sweat, relieved to find that – at least – he hadn't changed back this time. And the dream didn't morph grotesquely at the end either. Progress.

Rolling onto his stomach, he edged toward the mouth of the cave, staring up at the bright moon. It was nearing full again… A night like this, a lifetime ago, he might have been sitting with James and Moony and the rat, plotting their next excursion through the forest. Their reprieve from the troubles of the world.

Instead, the forest was providing a whole different kind of shelter tonight.

Flipping over, Sirius tried again to get back to sleep. But his mind was far too crammed with memories. Five days… in five days, Harry would be thirteen.

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Harry knocked nervously on the door to Snape's classroom at nine o'clock on Monday morning. He hadn't seen the Potions master since the previous Thursday – since the scene in the clearing. Snape hadn't been to a meal in the Great Hall. He hadn't come by the headmaster's office. He hadn't even sent a note for Harry to meet him and receive his comeuppance for his disobedience. For all Harry knew, Snape had simply vanished from the school.

But, having received no word to the contrary, Harry turned up for his Potions tutorial precisely at the allotted time.

Even without Snape's anticipated lecture, it had not been an enjoyable week-end. Remus had given him hell for running off after a mass-murderer, and threatened to stop his anti-Dementor lessons if Harry couldn't show 'a modicum more maturity in critical decisions.' Albus hadn't shouted, but he had made Harry feel miniscule with his quiet disappointment. Then he had vanished to the Ministry of Magic for almost the entire week-end, convening with other important wizards over the growing crisis. Even Hagrid had seemed out of sorts with him, when Harry ran into him in the Great Hall for breakfast on Sunday.

But Minerva had taken the prize. First, she'd forced Harry to bed for the whole of Friday, insisting in spite of his protests that he needed the rest to heal. Harry had grumbled about it quite ardently, until she threatened to call Madam Pomfrey back from her holiday to check him over more completely. In retrospect, however, he would rather have spent the whole of the week-end in bed _and_ in hospital wing than faced McGonagall after she'd determined he was likely to live.

Instead, he'd gone down Saturday morning to find the headmaster gone and Minerva seated primly in his chair behind the desk, waiting for Harry. She ordered him to sit and proceeded to lecture him more thoroughly than Harry had ever been chastised in his life, working herself into a temper before screaming herself hoarse, then informing him that he was on restriction 'for the foreseeable future.'

Harry only hoped that her great dislike for Divination meant Minerva could not foresee the future all that long.

And he _still_ hadn't tackled Snape.

With a sigh, Harry knocked again.

'Enter,' the Potions master's voice called at last. Harry couldn't tell from the tone whether Snape was more irritable than usual… but he wouldn't have bet a knut against it. With a thrill of dread, Harry pushed open the door.

Snape was seated behind his desk, nose bent low over a scroll of parchment. He did not take his eyes from the reading as Harry entered the classroom.

'Instructions are on the board,' he said to the desk. 'You will find the necessary ingredients, and several _unnecessary_ ingredients, on the work table. Inform me when you believe you are through.'

Harry stared, unmoving. Snape seemed to take a few moments to realise Harry's lack of attention to the instruction.

' _Move_ , Potter,' he said, giving the smallest fraction of a glare in his direction before returning resolutely to the scroll.

'Er – right,' said Harry, nonplussed. He hurried to drop his satchel and retrieve his cauldron, still sending odd looks at Snape's impassive form.

The dungeon remained in near silence for two entire hours – only the occasional splash as Harry added an ingredient or the scratching of Snape's quill disturbing the quiet. Every once in a while, Harry glanced up nervously in Snape's direction, but the professor continued to act as though Harry weren't there. Harry was used to this sort of treatment, of course, as it had been a favourite of the Dursleys' when he'd been living at Privet Drive… but he'd worked himself up to expect a tirade from Snape. This complete passivity made him far more nervous than shouting would have done.

'Finished, professor,' he announced at last, adjusting the heat to simmer on his cauldron when the brew turned orange.

Snape set aside the quill and parchment, rising from his chair to examine Harry's cauldron. Harry backed quickly out of reach when the Potions master drew near, wondering wildly if Snape intended to put him over his knee. The retreat was not lost on the professor, who stopped suddenly at the cauldron with a frown, looking into Harry's eyes for the first time.

The dark gaze seemed to bore straight through him – not unlike Dumbledore's penetrating blue one. Harry swallowed hard.

'I am not going to strike you, you ridiculous child,' Snape said, his voice derisive.

'I – I didn't think you were, sir,' Harry lied.

Snape surveyed him closely again. 'Yes,' he disagreed. 'You did.'

Harry said nothing, biting his lip as he forced himself to break the eye-contact. Snape bent over the cauldron, ladling out a measure to check its consistency.

'Acceptable,' he decided, nodding at the potion. 'You may go.'

'It's only eleven, sir,' said Harry. 'I still have an hour, if you want me to –'

'You may go,' Snape repeated. 'Ladle the solution into eight phials, and drain the remainder. Be sure to put tincture of sulphur in the base of the cauldron first to neutralise whatever remains, or it may cause damage to the pipes or your hands.'

Harry felt his frustration rise. He crossed his arms, glaring at Snape. 'Aren't you going to _say_ anything?' he demanded. 'Don't you have _reminders_ or a _lecture_ to give me, sir?'

Snape raised an eyebrow. 'Yes,' he said drily. 'Be sure Minerva remembers to instruct you on the summoning charm this afternoon. I shall wish to return to that exercise before the start of term. Now, tidy your work station.'

Harry dropped his hands, staring incredulously at Snape. 'You don't want to tell me what a foolish little boy I was, to run off after you when you told me to stay here? You don't want to call me a brat and remind me that I'm exactly like my father – who was _friends_ with a murderer? You don't want to shout at me for being reckless and unthinking and all those other things you're always warning me I am?'

Snape's face tensed a fraction. 'How did you learn that your father and Black were friends?' he asked quietly.

'Does it _matter_?' Harry said, with a hollow, almost manic laugh. 'Black told me, alright? Or, at least, he hinted at it, and the others admitted it when I asked. Not that _anyone_ thought I needed to know before. They'd probably still keep me in the dark, if I hadn't figured it out for myself.'

Snape looked disdainful. 'It does not matter,' he told him. 'Not now. What Black was and what he is now… who saw him for the vermin he would become… it's a pointless mental exercise to speculate. _You_ need only to stay away from him – _far_ away from him, Potter.'

'I know,' Harry said. 'Because I almost got killed trying to go after him, right? Because I put myself in danger again, and because of me you got hurt, and _I_ got hurt, and Sirius Black got away anyway? I mucked it up – just l always do.'

He was giving Snape's lecture for him, but Harry did not care. He just wanted it over with – he wanted to move forward. And if that meant working Snape up into a rage to burst whatever this weird tension was, then he was willing to do it.

'There is nothing left to say,' Snape said simply, still resignedly stoic. 'Whatever lecture I might have given, I am sure the headmaster and Minerva have already handled it. And you are their responsibility, after all.'

'I almost got _you_ killed!' Harry shouted. 'I almost got myself killed, and who knows who else might have died. Just like I got my mum and dad killed.'

'What are you talking about?' Snape said sharply. And now, at last, he looked angry. 'I was not nearly killed Potter – I was stunned. And you are _not_ the reason your parents were murdered.'

'Yes, I am,' Harry said stubbornly. 'Volde–'

' _Do not say his name_!' Snape hissed.

Harry glared. 'You Know Who,' he corrected stiffly, 'Told me so. When I met him in first year. He said my mother needn't have died that night – he only wanted to kill me. But she wouldn't move aside… so he murdered her too.'

'Potter –'

'And now,' Harry continued, raising his voice as he continued in his wild rant, 'I can hear her last moments, did you know that? Every time I get too near a Dementor – I can hear her. Pleading to save _me_ , because she cared more that _I_ lived than she did to save herself. Which is strange, really… because Lupin says Dementors make you relive your _worst_ memories. And that's definitely mine – hearing my mother die. But it's also the _only_ memory I have of her voice. And so sometimes, I don't want to stop it. Sometimes, I'm _glad_ I can't make a patronus yet – because at least I can hear her. I can pretend, for just a moment, that it isn't my fault she's gone. And my father's gone. And it's all because some maniac decided he wanted to kill me before I –'

' _Enough_!'

Snape's bellow cut him off at last – which was perhaps a good thing, because Harry had worked himself near to hysterics now. He felt an odd elation in the raw tumult of emotion… though he could not discern exactly how he'd veered so far from his original intention to goad Snape into getting his diatribe out of the way.

'Enough,' Snape repeated. He was white in the face now. He did _not_ look angry – not precisely. He looked… almost frightened, staring at Harry with something close to horror. Harry thought, perhaps, an onslaught of teenage emotion was Snape's idea of a nightmare.

'I am only going to say this once, Potter,' Snape said, schooling his expression into neutral once more. 'And then, for both our sakes, I shall _forget_ we ever had this conversation.'

He took a deep breath and Harry waited, nerves replacing what had been frustration and hurt.

'You are _not_ to blame – not in the slightest – for what happened to your parents that night,' Snape said firmly. 'There are… many people who could stake a claim to their deaths, but their son is not among them. What the Dark Lord did –' he broke off, uncharacteristically ineloquent. 'It was not your fault, Potter. No more than any wizard's actions can be attributed to any but himself, in the end. Do you understand me?'

There was a long, very awkward silence. Then Harry gave a stiff nod of assent.

'Now, complete your packing up, before I decide to get truly angry for your impertinence,' Snape growled.

'Yes, sir,' Harry said glumly, beginning his clean-up as Snape returned to his desk and his apathy. He felt almost let down by the lack of temper as he rushed through the job, paying far less attention than he should have done.

'Ouch!' he hissed, as a splash of the orange potion grazed the back of his hand while he lugged the cauldron to the basin.

' _What_ did I say about the sulphur?!' Snape snapped, rushing over from his desk 'Did you pour it down the drain in that state as well, to ruin the plumbing?'

'N – no,' said Harry quickly, shaking his aching hand. 'I only just brought it over.' He made to rub the welt on his left hand with his right.

'Do not touch it!' Snape barked as he reached him. 'You'll only spread the solution. Give it here.'

He reached out for Harry's injured hand, but Harry flinched again. Something odd flashed across Snape's face.

'Let me see your hand, Potter,' he said, in a slightly softer tone.

A little embarrassed, Harry held it out. Snape took it more gently than Harry would have imagined, lifting Harry's arm to examine the welt.

' _Accio_ essence of murtlap,' he muttered after a moment, directing his wand toward a corner cupboard. A small bottle of violet liquid zoomed through the cupboard doors. Snape caught it deftly, using a dropper to carefully apply four drops to Harry's skin. The redness faded at once with the worst of the sting.

'Thanks,' Harry said, giving Snape a nervous smile.

Snape held his gaze for just a moment, frowning slightly.

'Next time, be more careful,' he said coolly. 'And I shall do the same.'

He dropped Harry's arm again, and nodded him toward the door.

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'What's happened to your hand?' Minerva asked, her eyes drawn at once to a half-healed welt on the back of Harry's left hand as he joined her in her classroom after lunch.

Harry shrugged. 'Nothing,' he said sullenly.

Minerva frowned. 'Harry,' she said in a warning tone.

'A Potions accident,' he told her morosely. 'I wasn't paying attention and I splashed myself.'

Minerva found her temper – so close to boiling these days – rise sharply once more. 'In _Severus'_ lesson?' she pressed disapprovingly.

'Yes,' Harry said shortly. 'And don't – please. He's already chewed me out once. I don't need another lecture.'

'You will watch your tone, young man,' she said curtly. 'I was only going to inquire whether he'd given you anything for it.'

'Essence of Murtlap,' Harry said grudgingly. 'It's almost faded since.'

'Hmm,' Minerva grumbled. 'Well, if you're sure, take out your wand. We'll focus on Charms today.'

'Snape said to remind you he wants me to learn the summoning charm,' Harry said dully, taking the wand from his pocket.

' _Professor_ Snape, Harry,' she corrected. 'Really, I _do_ tire of giving that instruction. And I certainly don't need Severus' aid in planning my lessons. Did you read the material on the spell?'

'Yes.'

'Good. Then you will be able to tell me what the theory behind summoning entails?'

'To summon an object, the wizard must focus on the thing they wish to summon. You have to picture it clearly within your mind, and direct your thoughts toward it. The charm is an incarnation of the desire to bring the object forward, and the spell is _Accio_ ,' Harry recited in monotone.

'Correct,' Minerva said. 'And what would be easier, to summon the cup of tea on my desk or to summon your broomstick?'

Harry frowned. 'The tea, probably,' he said. 'It's closer than the broomstick, and distance affects the ability to focus. But the cup of tea is also _three_ objects really – the cup, the saucer, and the tea inside. You'd have to focus carefully, or else the tea might not move with the saucer, and the liquid would spill.'

'And what are the obstacles in summoning the broomstick?'

'The broom is farther away,' Harry said. 'But as long as the caster is focusing hard enough, it should come anyway. It's not so far that summoning would be impossible. But broomsticks also have magic of their own, which makes it a bit more difficult to work the spell on a broom than an ordinary object. There are also doors and such, so the charm would have to be held longer so the summoned object can navigate a path to the caster.'

'And what path will a summoned object take?' Minerva continued.

'The shortest possible distance,' Harry said. 'Although you can alter the casting to avoid damaging the object. It's possible to will a summoned object to slide under doors, or through windows, where solid walls are in the way.'

'Very good,' said Minerva. 'Now, what if I told you to summon something animate? The newt in that cage, for instance, or Hedwig, or perhaps another wizard?'

Harry shook his head. 'Summoning charms don't work well on living things,' he said, 'Because they aren't in a state of stillness. I might be able to summon a common newt – because it's not a magical being and it is, at least right now, in a cage and therefore relatively immobile. I probably couldn't summon Hedwig, because she has magic. It would be easier than summoning another wizard though, because a wizard's magic is more complex than an owl's. In general, only a _really_ powerful summoning charm would have a chance at moving either. And the summoned being would probably not come neatly to the caster.'

'Precisely,' Minerva approved with a nod. 'You've done your revision. Now, why don't you give it a try.' She took an ordinary quill from her pocket, placing it on the work table a few feet from Harry. 'Summon the quill,' she instructed.

Harry frowned in concentration, directing his wand at the feather.

' _Accio_ quill!'

Nothing happened.

'Again,' Minerva encouraged.

' _Accio_ quill!' Harry tried again.

The feather twitched slightly, but did not leave the desk.

'Once more.'

' _Accio_ QUILL!' Harry shouted.

This time, the feather shifted to the edge of the wood, then fluttered lightly to the floor.

'I can't do it!' Harry growled in frustration. 'I couldn't do it wandlessly either. I've got a block against this sodding spell.'

'Language, Mr Potter!' Minerva snapped. 'And take a breath. You haven't got a block on anything,' she disagreed, floating the quill back onto the desk with her own wand. 'You just need to focus more exactly.'

'I can't,' Harry said through gritted teeth. 'I can't focus on _anything_ today.'

Minerva frowned. 'Because of your hand?' she asked. 'Severus should have given you –'

'No, not because of my stupid hand!' Harry snapped, turning away angrily as she came over to see it. 'My hand is fine. It wasn't even that badly burned to begin with.'

'What then?' asked Minerva, hands on her hips. 'Really, I don't know what has got into you lately, you've never acted out like this before.'

Harry seemed to deflate a little. 'Sorry,' he muttered. 'I – it's just…'

'Just _what_ ,' Minerva pressed, exasperated.

'Everyone's furious with me!' Harry moaned. 'Albus is so disappointed, Hagrid was distant, and Snape would barely _look_ at me this morning. And then there's you – you're so cross at me you can hardly stand to _talk_ to me in a normal voice. I can tell you want to curse me into next term. And I know I messed up, but I –'

'Harry,' Minerva interrupted, as he clearly approached a breaking point. 'Stop. Just… stop.'

She pulled gently on his arm, tugging him toward a student chair. He sat miserably upon it, pulling his legs up and resting his chin on his knees. Curled up like this, he seemed much younger than he had in weeks.

'I can see why you're struggling with this,' she said, forcing a small smile. 'Chin up. You're never going to master a summoning charm if you work yourself into a state every time you try to cast.'

'Aren't you _ever_ going to forgive me?' Harry said, his voice a bit muffled by his knees.

'Harry,' Minerva said softly. She felt her heart contract a little as she crouched down, resting a hand on his trainer. 'Of course I've forgiven you. This was never about holding you in some sort of perpetual state of disgrace. That's not what it means to be on restriction.'

'At the Dursleys, restriction meant I had to stay in my –'

Harry stopped, chewing at his lip. 'My room,' he finished quietly. 'Sometimes, it meant less food for a while, or extra difficult chores I'd never get finished in time.'

Minerva felt hot fury course through her blood. Behind her, a window suddenly shattered. Harry jumped so badly he nearly fell off his seat.

'Apologies,' Minerva muttered, casting a hasty repair charm at the glass without taking her eyes from Harry's face. 'That was my fault, I'm afraid.'

Harry stared at the window in trepidation.

'Harry,' the professor continued, drawing his focus back as she lifted his chin with her fingers. 'That is _not_ acceptable behaviour toward any child, do you recognise that?'

'I know,' Harry assured her quietly. 'But – it was punishment. It's not supposed to be fun.'

'It was cruel,' she told him firmly. 'Not punishment. And it will _never_ happen again, not while I am alive, do you understand me?'

Harry nodded.

'At Hogwarts,' Minerva continued, trying to pull her emotions in line, 'Restriction means you will spend your free time under supervision in the library or the headmaster's quarters. It means you will spend more time revising or reading quietly, and less time flying or doing other things you enjoy. It is a punishment which serves a purpose. Just like detention, it is a time when you are meant to reflect on your actions, and think about what you will do differently in future. I know it is not an enjoyable experience, but I do hope that you can understand why Albus and I feel you need this period of reflection.'

'I understand,' Harry said, glumly. 'I just wish you wouldn't be so angry. I _am_ sorry, you know.'

'I do know,' Minerva assured him, cupping his cheek affectionately. 'And I am glad you can identify your mistakes. It will keep you from repeating them.'

Harry nodded. Minerva wiped a tear from the corner of his eye with her thumb.

'Don't be so downcast, Harry,' she said gently. 'It isn't forever. And,' she hesitated. 'I am not angry with you, anymore. But you cannot scare me like that anymore. We cannot lose you, do you hear me?'

'Yes, ma'am,' Harry said, giving her a tentative smile.

'Good,' said Minerva, returning to her usual briskness as she stood. 'So that's quite enough of that, then.'

'Should I try the charm again?' Harry asked, climbing off the chair and looking a bit more cheerful.

Minerva sighed, considering the feather.

'I think we've had enough of the practical lessons for the moment,' she decided, banishing the quill back to its place on her desk. 'Let's do something more amusing. Perhaps… tea on the Astronomy Tower? It's a lovely day, and the turrets offer a spectacular view of the grounds. I often head up that direction to blow the cobwebs away.'

Harry brightened at once. 'Okay,' he agreed. 'That sounds great!'

'Excellent,' Minerva said, waving her wand once around the classroom to put the furniture to rights. 'Let's be off then. Perhaps we can discuss what you'd like to do for your birthday on Saturday.'

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 _'James?' Sirius called, stepping into the front hall and closing the door behind him. 'Lily?'_

 _It was the last day of July. The baby was already almost a week late, but the healers thought he might still be a few more days. Lily was too huge to get comfortable anymore and could not get a decent night's rest, and James was so anxious that he could barely sit still for five minutes at a clip. Both were over-tired, irritable, and impatient. Though no longer living in the little cottage, Sirius had taken to stopping by every afternoon… just to be sure everything was alright. Usually, James was here to greet him at the door. He found the silence disquieting._

 _'James?' he called again, throwing his travelling cloak onto the bench._

 _'He's not here,' came Lily's strained voice. It was muffled, like she was speaking through the walls. 'He had to run out – some contact with the order he needed to reach. Albus came for him early this morning.'_

 _Something felt off. Slowly, Sirius rounded the corner to peer down the corridor. The door to the loo was shut, but he could hear Lily breathing heavily behind it._

 _'Er – everything alright?' he asked, rapping once on the wood. There was silence, and then a sharp cry._

 _'Lily?!' Sirius called in fear, trying the handle. She'd locked the door._

 _'It's… fine,' she said, sounding breathless. 'Everything's fine. I'll… I'll be out in a moment. Just wait in the hall, won't you?'_

 _'Er… yeah, alright,' Sirius agreed, backing away from the door with a frown. He made his way into the front hall again, running a hand through his hair as he worked through his nerves. His heart was beating a slight flutter in his chest – like even his magic could sense something wrong in the house._

 _After a few long minutes, he heard the door to the loo click open. Shuffling footsteps echoed down the corridor, as Lily's belly preceded her through into the hall. She was gripping the wood of the wall for support, her face pink and her hair slightly damp. Though it was coming fast on tea time, Lily was still wearing a scarlet dressing gown with the Gryffindor lion embroidered on the sleeve over what looked like a nightdress._

 _'Merlin, Lily, here,' Sirius said, hurrying to steer her onto the front hall bench. She was sweaty and shaking beneath his hands. He crouched in front of her in concern, cupping her cheek. 'You look like hell,' he told her, his voice almost angry in his worry. 'What was James thinking, leaving you in this state? How long have you felt ill?'_

 _'I'm not ill,' she disagreed, shaking her head. 'It's… the baby.'_

 _'The baby?' Sirius repeated distractedly, conjuring a damp flannel to soothe her clammy face._

 _'Mmm,' Lily agreed, closing her eyes at the coolness of the cloth. 'Poppy said it'd be a few more days… so I told him to go.'_

 _'James?' Sirius asked, trying to follow the disjointed conversation._

 _'Mmm,' Lily murmured again. Her head was lolling slightly, as though she was about to fall asleep. ''S only a few hours, I said. We'll be fine.'_

 _'Right,' said Sirius thickly, moving the cloth so he could feel her forehead. 'Well, no offence, love, but I don't think you're all that fine. Actually, I think we'd better call a healer or something; you're burning up. Come on, let's get you –'_

 _He broke off, as Lily gave a sudden cry again. No longer looking remotely dreamy, she hunched in on herself in agony, nearly smacking her head into Sirius' nose. He dropped the flannel in fear and grabbed her shoulders to keep her from pitching off the bench._

 _'Lily, what –'_

 _'It's… okay,' she said tensely, still bent over herself. 'It's okay,' she repeated. 'Okay.' She raised her head again as the pain seemed to subside, new beads of sweat covering her brow. 'It's just the baby,' she told him, locking her emerald eyes with his. 'He's coming.'_

 _There was a beat of utter silence, and then Sirius sprang to his feet._

 _'WHAT THE FUCK, LILS!' Sirius ranted in panic._

 _He paced around the front hall in agitation, feeling like his brain was about to explode. His heart was hammering against his ribs._

 _'What do I do? Who do I call?'_

 _'Healer,' Lily ground out, through gritted teeth again. 'We need –'_

 _She doubled over in pain again. Sirius rushed back to her side, completely helpless._

 _'Is it supposed to do this?' he asked doubtfully, biting back against his own howl as Lily squeezed down on his hand so tightly he thought his fingers would fracture. The lights of the hall flickered, and Sirius glanced about nervously._

 _'It's… it's fine,' she gasped, loosening her grip a little as the wave of agony passed. 'This is… this is what happens, I think. It's labour.'_

 _'It is SO not fine. Where the_ hell _is James?!' Sirius ranted, trying to ease Lily off the bench and toward the sitting room._

 _'No – the bed,' she said, her fingers grappling the wood as he steered her around the doorframe. 'I don't – ah!'_

 _She hunched over again as another contraction started. Sirius didn't know much about babies… but he was pretty sure the faster these pains came, the closer he was._

 _'Oh fuck, Merlin's balls, what the –'_

 _'Sirius!' Lily growled, drowning him out. 'Stop it. Get a grip, and send word to headquarters.'_

 _'_ Headquarters _?!' Sirius repeated in alarm. 'No, Lily, we need St Mungo's. And James. We need James right fucking NOW!'_

 _'No!' she cried, grasping his hand again. 'No hospital, Sirius. We can't. Albus says –'_

 _'Sod Dumbledore!' Sirius swore, conjuring a chair and pushing her gently into it. Behind him, the glass face of the carriage clock exploded, shards of glass missing them by inches. 'This is definitely not supposed to happen like this, Lily. We need help. We need a_ healer _. You need –'_

 _'Sirius, listen to me!' Lily shouted._

 _She was panting and drenched in sweat now, her deep green eyes wide with pain and her face pale against the familiar scarlet dressing gown. But for the massive belly, she might have been ranting at him in the Gryffindor Common Room after he and James had come in at half three from a jaunt in the grounds… they might have been seventeen._

 _But they weren't._

 _'Sirius, breath,' she said, more quietly. 'It's alright.'_

 _'It's not –'_

 _'I'm having a baby,' she said slowly, as though Sirius couldn't see the evidence right in front of him. 'A wizarding child. This is the way it's_ supposed _to be. I need to get to the bedroom, can you help me do that?'_

 _'I – yeah, okay. Bedroom.' Sirius repeated._

 _He heaved Lily to her feet again, and helped her slowly down the corridor. The stairs were a little more difficult, and they had to stop twice while Lily fought her way through more contractions. By the time he had her settled on the massive bed, she was nearly breathless and quite incapable of speech._

 _'Lily, I –'_

 _'It's alright,' she assured him, patting his hand clumsily. She was looking sleepy again in the wake of the last contraction. 'Use the fire – call for whoever's at headquarters. They can get in touch with James and the healer.'_

 _'Right,' said Sirius, still feeling quite inadequate._

 _'And pull the covers up, would you?' she asked quietly, as he slid off the edge of the bed for the fireplace. 'I'm cold.'_

 _Sirius gave her a funny look. It was July, after all, and the little cottage was almost uncomfortably warm despite the cooling charms he and James had cast on the place to make it more palatable to the heavily pregnant witch over the past two months. But he did not dare second guess her. Instead, he reached to pull the duvet from under her legs._

 _And froze._

 _'Lily –'_

 _'Come_ on _, Sirius,' she complained._

 _'Lily –'_

 _'Siri –'_

 _'Lily, you're bleeding!' he said in panic. He dragged the covers back with a yank, staring in horror at the bedsheets._

 _They were drenched in blood. Far,_ far _too much blood. Even Sirius, who knew nothing of babies or labour or any of the rest of it, was_ positive _this was not supposed to happen._

 _Lily raised her head just a fraction off the pillow, looking dazed as she surveyed the mess of a bed beneath her._

 _'Call,' she said, her jaw set._

 _'You need to be in hospi–'_

 _'No!' Lily shouted again, her voice gurgling in another howl of pain. 'It's… not safe… the baby…'_

 _And she trailed off, eyes rolling back in her head._

 _'Lily?' Sirius called, shaking her by the shoulder. 'LILY!?'_

 _Her head lolled as he shook, streaming red across her pillow even while it continued to pool beneath her. Sirius felt his stomach turning with fear as he tried to will his brain back into function._

 _Call._

 _And stop the blood._

 _'Right,' he said aloud. 'Right.'_

 _There was no time for the floo now. Praying that Albus was within reach, he conjured a patronus, sending it straight to the headmaster with his pleas. Let Albus deal with James, and the healer._

 _He swirled his wand in the air, summoning a pile of fresh towels. Unsure of what to do and terrified he might muck everything up, he gathered the lot together and stuffed them as hard as he could between Lily's legs where the bleeding was heaviest, trying with all his might not to look too closely or think too much about the danger. He pressed hard against the pile with both hands. He could still feel the blood._

 _Hold her together. Just hold her together._

 _Dumbledore would come. James would come. Healers would come._

 _They had to._

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 14:**

 **BlueLuver5000** : Thank you! I'm glad you're liking it so far.

 **AlsoKnownAsMatt** : Thank you for reviewing again and for your kind wishes! I'm glad you like the growing tension – it's certainly an interesting dynamic developing: Harry starting to become his own person as he rapidly leaves childhood; Albus struggling with the balance of his own personal responsibilities to both Harry the wider world, and the more ordinary difficulties of raising a child who will not be so for long. He knows he has to mould Harry into a good and humble person, and yet he also knows he is raising the only possible Saviour; he wants Harry to be happy and out of danger, and yet he recognises that without _facing_ difficulties and dangers, he will not be ready for the ultimate fight. And, most ominously, he loves Harry more than his own life; and yet he grows ever closer to unravelling the mysteries of Voldemort's horcruxes, the true nature of the prophecy, and what Harry's destiny may become. I don't envy Albus's position in the slightest. But, like any parent, he hopes that Harry will not make the same mistakes that he regrets so dearly from his own youth.

 **Psitomer** : Thank you for reviewing the chapter, and for your support (both on story and on babies)! I appreciate the well-wishes in both areas…

To answer your query on Albus and Gellert… I am deliberately leaving portions of their past relationship up to interpretation by the reader, at least at this point. This is mostly out of deference to JKR, and her revelations post-DH about her views on Albus's sexuality. _I_ am personally writing with an eye to Albus-Minerva, and can promise there will definitely be no _future_ Albus-Gellert romance. I do not envision that Albus and Gellert were ever involved in that way; but I do think it is possible Albus had feelings toward him at one point – he loved him, certainly. I envision fascination, enthralment, even adoration. Could that have been romantic in nature, at least for Albus? Sure. But I leave that to the reader. Love, as Albus so rightly says, is sometimes too complex for expression or understanding… as is hate. There's a little of both in there for Albus and Gellert, I think.

I'm glad you enjoyed Drunk Snape and his row with Remus. And you're right – Severus's biggest problem here is his inability to be honest with himself, not the people who are on his back. And happy you liked the bit with Aberforth – he's so different from Albus… and then, at times, _so_ similar, albeit in a more ruffian incarnation. It's a fun relationship to explore.

Won't give spoilers on the overall timeline, but there are definitely breadcrumbs dropped in these past few chapters – things that are setting wheels in motion in Albus's brain. Of course, it's so frustrating for us – who know the truth – to watch… but as a solicitor myself I _do_ sympathise in part with what the characters are feeling. It is _so_ rare that someone is wrongly convicted of murder (despite what the telly sometimes shows) – it would be near to _impossible_ to convince me, had I tried the case, that someone I'd helped put away was truly innocent of the crime… if I'd examined all the evidence, fought for the sentence, thought I really knew the details of what had happened. Of course, if for some reason I did discover that a man was innocent, I would do everything in my power – and as quickly as possible – to put the situation to rights. I identify with Albus here; I think it devastated him to discover Sirius's betrayal, but I think he's adamant in his belief that it _was_ a betrayal. Those seeds of doubt have been sown, but growing them will take some cultivation.

Hope you sorted everything with your laptop and projects – and thank you again for reviewing!

 **LordTicky** : Thank you for your continued support! It's fun to see how readers react to Grindelwald – and I'm very happy you like their chats! Gellert may be my absolute favourite character to get inside the head of… probably because it's such a stark change from the others, and he's so underutilised in canon. And would _love_ advice or tips (even over internet!) – twins do not run in my family, so though both James and I have extensive relations, neither of us has _any_ experience with twins… it will be a whole new level of madness, I don't doubt.

 **AECM** : Thank you for your review! I hope you enjoyed this chapter too (and the update time – it was the fastest I could manage)! : )

 **Wide Eyed and Curious** : Thank you so much for reviewing again, and for your compliments! I'm really glad you're enjoying how the characters develop here. And thank you for your blessings – here's hoping it's a smooth(ish) ride (at least until they actually get here)!

To the **Guest** Reviewer: Thank you so much for your support! I'm glad you are liking the story so much, and hope you will continue to enjoy it in future. Happy you liked the Harry revelation scene… there's _definitely_ another on the horizon, as Harry has yet to find out the truly pivotal aspect of his father's relationship to Sirius. Hopefully, it will live up to expectations. And thank you for the well wishes! I'll certainly keep updating as things move forward.

 **Leonore** : Thank you again for your review and enthusiasm! I compliment you on your critical reading skills, haha – those were precisely the parallels this chapter was meant to highlight. We'll definitely see more of both Aberforth and Gellert in future. I hope you enjoyed Chapter 15!

 **Babascoop:** Thank you for your review! Yes, I am in agreement that the moment of truth is really, as Albus alluded to here, the beginning of the end of Harry's childhood. It is a turning point I intend to handle very carefully – and by degree. Clearly, he knows much more at this point than he did in canon (having figured out by now that Remus, James, and Sirius were all friends, and that all three disliked Snape). Half-truths, however, sometimes draw out more tension than continued obliviousness, or dumping everything at once. We can obviously see that in Albus's struggle – internally and with others – over revealing the rest of Black's history to Harry. And it will have its own set of consequences, when – as is inevitable – Harry does find out everything. We saw a bit of his reaction here; but how that might change, intensify, or backfire once he learns just how deeply his life is entwined with Sirius Black… that remains to be seen.

Closer bond with Snape… yes, to some degree this is true; certainly they understand each other more now than they perhaps ever did in canon (at least, until Harry saw Snape's memories). I won't expound too much on my thoughts on this relationship development, as I went rather in-depth in my response to another reader's query below. But yes, I think Albus has certainly seen glimpses of this. Remus – perhaps he is seeing it too… this is, after all, the second Harry-centric interaction he's had with Snape and rather a reversal of roles, as in the first it was Snape chewing out Remus for his reckless actions concerning Harry. But I think here, for both Harry and Snape, their reactions are quite based in conscience, and guilt. It's something I wanted to subtlety contrast with Grindelwald – for whom many things are calculated to an almost maniacal degree of coldness. Harry defends Snape because he _knows_ he should never have run off into the forest, and he knows Snape was only in the clearing because he summoned him there, and he knows Snape didn't really intend that Harry should be injured. He _doesn't_ know Snape's significant history with Black, however, as Minerva and Remus certainly do… and only Albus, of course, has been gifted with the ultimate knowledge that Severus blames Black for taking away the woman he loved, and that his own guilt from that tragedy is stirred by the mere memory of Sirius Black. That, of course, changes the way the adults view Snape's actions as compared to Harry.

Guilt and innocence… is a central tenet of this book. What is guilt? What is innocence? What is it we fear when contemplating the balance?

Gellert _is_ well-informed; although here, most of his information comes directly from the missive he received earlier in Part II, and the papers that give public information. The eagle is helpful, of course, but I think most of Grindelwald's brilliance is that he is excellent at puzzle-solving; excellent at reading people; and excellent at correctly stringing seemingly incongruous scraps of intelligence into a wider story. It's a gift that Albus shares – which only increases his wariness, and – perhaps – his fascination. I think you are correct – in many ways, Albus sees in Gellert the way his life could have gone if he'd made one different decision; given in to temptation; or, perhaps, listened to his darker instincts. I used the Icarus allusion here deliberately – because, really, Gellert Grindelwald _is_ the Icarus here: he flew too close to the sun, and was ultimately destroyed by his own hubris. It is what Albus – _my_ Albus _and_ the canon Albus – always fears for Harry.

Drunk Snape. I hesitated on this, because while Severus enjoys a glass of wine or a scotch at times, he is adamant in his abhorrence of drunks early on in this series, when we see his memories of childhood and his father (see, e.g. Part I, Chapter Seven, "Potions, Potions Masters, and Poison" – where he throws the glass against the wall in temper; or Part I, Chapter Twelve, "How to Bewitch the Mind" – where he reminisces in disgust that drinking before dinner has always reminded him of his father). However, I think Sirius's escape – and his continued existence – preys on Severus's mind like a parasite, driving him near to madness. I think madness is destructive, and it often has consequences. I think Severus strongly associates drinking alone with self-loathing, perhaps even self-destruction. And I thought it was important to bring him to that point here.

Albus/Gellert: I addressed this in a response above, so I'll skip it here. But, in a nutshell, I am leaving it deliberately ambiguous… at least for now.

Thank you again for reviewing, and hope you enjoyed Chapter 15!

 **WritersLife3** : Thank you for your review! I hope you're liking the story thus far. I'm hesitant to promise you will see exactly what you've requested… but I think that we'll get more of that sort of behaviour in future. Harry certainly knows he was in the wrong; but so was Severus, to be fair. This chapter, we've seen a little of how that dichotomy plays out. Their relationship is definitely changing, and I think Harry understands Snape a bit better than he perhaps did in canon – is not quite as thoroughly black/white on what kind of man Snape is. Severus, in turn, _definitely_ is starting to see other sides of Harry, and perhaps even feel protectiveness that stretches beyond what he's promised to Albus and to Lily. But I still don't think we're quite at friendship between them… it's one thing to feel badly that you accidentally let your thirst for vengeance overrule your sensibilities and injured a child; it is quite another to love that child.

I certainly don't think Harry blames Severus, in the way that Minerva, Albus, and even Remus seem to. Minerva sees his actions as reckless, destructive, and nasty. Albus recognises that Snape is probably sorry for it, but he is still angry enough to threaten him quite severely. And Remus… well, I think Remus was probably angriest of the bunch. But Remus has his own demons – significant ones, at that – and he recognises that people are sometimes monsters whether they want to be or not; the difference is, those with a conscience regret their rash actions. I think he saw this in Severus last chapter – both in the way he spoke and in the way he was dealing with his turmoil of emotions about the incident.

Although the relationship between Severus and Harry is certainly a key part of this story and will continue to be as it develops, it isn't going to be a Severitus or Sevitus fic. In any case, I hope you like the direction we move in.


	16. As the Seventh Month Dies, Part Two

**A/N:** It's obscenely early in the morning, so I won't leave too much of a note this time… I need my run and my tea before I can think straight again.

Review responses at the end of the chapter again – thank you SO much to everyone who commented! I really do appreciate hearing from the readers.

Enjoy Chapter 16!

 **Warning: Some language and graphic scenes.**

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 16: As the Seventh Month Dies, Part Two**

Remus was seated by the fire, flipping through a tattered copy of _Defence and Diversion_ , when someone pounded hard against the door.

'Coming,' Remus called at once, pushing the book onto the side table and hurrying to greet the visitor.

'Severus,' he said, raising his eyebrows as the Potions master was revealed on the threshold. 'This is quite unusual. Won't you come in?'

Severus pushed past him into the quarters without a word, looking highly uncomfortable as his eyes took in the shabby furnishings.

'Would you care for a cup of –'

'This is not a social call,' the professor interrupted impatiently. 'I merely wanted to relay a… concern.'

Remus raised an eyebrow. 'What can I do for you, Severus?'

Severus looked indecisive and angry, crossing his arms in agitation. 'Potter,' he said shortly.

'What about him?'

'Has he been… what has he been like, in your lessons this week?'

'I suppose a touch down in the mouth,' Remus admitted, frowning. 'He is still feeling guilty for his rash action last Thursday, I think. He misses his friends, and I gather he hasn't heard from either in a week or so. And he's rather –'

'You misunderstand me,' Severus said, cutting him off and rolling his eyes. 'I could not care less whether the brat is emotional, except in so far as it affects his ability to progress, and the use of my own valuable time,' he spat. 'I wish to know – is he making strides in Defence? Has he managed to cast a Patronus? Has he shown _any_ signs that he is teachable in the slightest? Because he has been next to impossible in _my_ tutorials this week.'

Remus frowned. 'Is that quite fair?' he protested. 'Harry has done well thus far. And – as you so rightly pointed out yourself – casting a patronus is difficult and highly advanced magic.'

'You did not answer the question,' Severus needled.

'He has not managed it yet,' Remus said shortly. 'But he is doing quite well, and he has shown abilities with other spells we've covered this week. He will master the patronus charm in the end.'

Severus dropped his arms, clenching a fist in tension. He began to pace the room.

'Severus, what is this about?' Remus asked in exasperation. 'If you are concerned –'

'He will _not_ manage the charm, Lupin, because he does not want to,' the Potions master snapped at last, whirling at the mantle to glare at Remus.

'What are you on about? Harry requested that course of study himself – it was the _only_ thing he asked of me for our lessons this summer. I think he wants it more than anything; to stop the sort of reaction he had at the beginning of the month.'

'Perhaps he did desire it then,' Severus allowed, staring resolutely into the embers of the fire, 'But he does not wish to learn it now. Not since…'

He trailed off, studying the coals.

'Not since _what_ , Severus?' asked Remus coolly, his own arms crossed.

Severus was quiet a moment. But when he turned his gaze back to Remus, his expression was quite neutral again. 'Are you aware of what the boy experiences when the Dementor's power affects him?'

Remus frowned again. 'Yes…' he said slowly. 'I've witnessed it several times now. You saw it yourself – the day he realised what the memories were. He can remember the day that Vol–'

'Must I remind you _every_ time!'

'You Know Who,' Remus amended, not bothering to hide his annoyance. 'Harry can recall the attack You Know Who made upon Godric's Hollow. That is what he hears when the Dementors approach.'

'Yes,' Severus said, turning for the fire again with stiffened shoulders. 'I am aware. But these memories of… his mother's voice –'

'Lily,' Remus said, his voice heavy with grief. 'Her name was Lily, Severus. Surely you can afford her that respect. We were all students together, after all, whatever quarrels you had with us.'

'I _know_ her name, you fool!' Severus spat, his eyes blazing as he shot a glare up from the fire. 'My point is, Potter cannot get past Lily Evans' –'

'Lily Potter,' Remus corrected.

There was a whoosh of sudden ash as Severus kicked at the fire in temper, embers flying into the sitting room and swirling around his robes. He looked like some sort of demon rising from a fiery hell.

'Are you _mad_?' Remus cried in shock, hurrying to ensure that nothing caught aflame. 'What the hell has got into you tonight, Severus?'

The Potions master did not reply, dousing a smoking hem of his robes with a lazy flick of his wand.

'Look, wolf,' he said at last, turning to face Remus with a murderous expression. 'I did not come here tonight to rehash fond memories of our shared education. Do you wish to help the Potter brat, or not?'

Remus backed away, studying Snape's face with wary eyes. 'Very well,' he said at last. 'But leave the fire be, won't you?'

Severus made a noise of disgust, resuming his pacing instead. 'This memory he hears,' he continued. 'Potter was in something of a temper earlier this week. He told me at the time that it is the only memory he has of his – of _Lily's_ – voice. He had never heard it before the Dementors, and he is unwilling to let it pass.'

'You think,' Remus said, understanding now. 'You think he is reluctant to succeed in the spell, because doing so may mean he can never hear his parents again?'

'His mother,' Severus spat viciously. 'He said _nothing_ of Potter. But… yes, that is the impression I got.' He stopped pacing, adjusting the turn-ups of his robes. 'In any case, I thought you ought to know. Even for you, it seems a foolish waste of time should the brat be fighting you at every turn.'

Without another word, he made for the door.

'Severus,' Remus called, hurrying after him. The man stopped, but did not turn. 'I – thank you,' Remus said. 'It means a lot, that you would come to tell me this. I'm grateful.'

The man's shoulders stiffened, but he gave no other acknowledgement that he had heard Remus.

He slammed the door firmly behind him.

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'Troubled mind, Minerva?' Albus said quietly, trying not to startle her as he came through the door and onto the Astronomy Tower.

It was well past midnight, the nearly-full moon the only light in the otherwise blackened grounds. Its brilliance shone off the surface of the lake, and sent dancing beams over Minerva's figure against the ramparts as her dressing gown rippled in the light breeze.

'Albus!' she cried, whirling with her hand at her chest. 'Goodness, you gave me a fright.'

'Beg pardon, my dear,' he apologised, stepping out of the shadows. 'It was my intention _not_ to startle you so.'

'It's quite alright,' she said, collecting herself. 'Come and join, won't you?'

He obliged, making his way toward the rail and following her gaze out into the grounds. 'Difficulties sleeping?' he asked solicitously.

'A bit,' Minerva agreed. 'Mostly, I was waiting up for you. I came up here after a while to clear my mind, and rather lost track of the time.' She took in his travelling clothes with a frown.

'Are you only just returned?' she asked anxiously.

'Yes,' he admitted. 'It was rather a long day. Cornelius has decided to pull all but a few Ministry employees from their regular duties, to increase the manhunt for Black. He sent missives to those who had taken August holidays, asking them to return to work. I do not doubt he will have more than one Howler in the morning.'

'And that took you until now?' she pressed with a furrowed brow. 'I don't think he should be keeping you so long, Albus, you're not as young as you were. You look utterly done in even now.'

'I am fine, Minerva,' he assured her, kissing her temple. 'Though quite happy to be home, I must admit.'

'You did not answer my query,' she pointed out.

Albus sighed. 'I was making a few inquiries myself,' he told her. 'I went from the Ministry to Elphias' home in Kent, to contact some of the remaining Order members. I want ears out.'

'Has it really come to that?' Minerva asked in concern.

'I do not know,' he admitted quietly. 'I hope not. But we cannot afford to be complacent. And there are troublesome rumours in town.'

They were quiet for several long minutes.

'What news from Harry?' Albus asked. 'Is he excited for tomorrow?'

'I rather think so,' Minerva said, relaxing her whitened knuckles on the rail. 'I've told him we can take lunch in the village, perhaps see Aberforth. It won't be quite the to do we had last summer, unfortunately, as both Ms Granger and Ronald Weasley are abroad, but I think we can make a go of it all the same. And he'll see his friends in a week or so, of course, for the match in Edinburgh.'

'I spoke with Arthur tonight,' Albus confided. 'And his eldest son, William.'

'He detests that name,' Minerva informed him, her lips quirking. 'It's Bill, Albus.'

'Very well,' the headmaster conceded with a nod. 'You are fond of him; I take it?'

'Bill Weasley was an excellent student,' Minerva confirmed. 'A brilliant mind, but with a sense of fun and excitement… one which was not _quite_ so destructive as seems ingrained in his younger brothers.'

Albus' eyes twinkled. 'You are too hard on them,' he teased her. 'Fred and George Weasley are highly amusing.'

'To you, perhaps,' she grumbled. 'As their Head of House… not nearly so often. I am fond of all the Weasley children, of course, but the twins give me more grey hairs each week than their elder brothers did in seven years. I shall need to invest in a darkening solution before they leave us, you mark my word. And woe betide the both of us if they get close enough to influence Harry. We shall never have another peaceful moment.'

Albus laughed loudly. 'Well, at any rate, I remember Bill Weasley as an accomplished wizarding student and a superb choice for Head Boy,' he said. 'And he has grown into a fine young man. He wishes to be useful to the Order… if things move in that direction once again.'

Minerva narrowed her eyes. 'Molly will not thank you for involving her children,' she warned him. But Albus shook his head.

'Involving Bill was not my choice,' he said. 'It was Arthur's – he had already spoken to him before I reached out. He merely brought him into our conversation. I am sure Molly will object, but that is a matter for her family to sort out.'

'How was Arthur?' Minerva asked. 'Will he be involved in the Ministry effort?'

'Yes. He is preparing to depart Egypt tomorrow for London. I do not think Molly or the children are very happy with the decision, but Arthur can hardly refuse Cornelius, and I do not think he is inclined to. Molly and the children will remain through Thursday.'

'And Bill?' Minerva pressed. 'Will he be returning with the rest?'

'Not at the moment,' Albus said, shaking his head. 'He offered, but I do not wish to uproot his life while things are so in flux. And it is useful to have contacts abroad at a time like this. Bill would be well placed to assist if we needed him there.'

'I suppose,' Minerva agreed with a sigh. 'But I dearly hope this bleak future you envision will not come to pass.'

'As do I,' said Albus heavily. 'But it is a fool's hope to dream that we will live in summer for a lifetime. Whether in two days, two years, or twenty; whether by the aid of Sirius Black or the folly of an innocent, there will come a time when darkness rises again. And we must all be ready for it.'

'Well, it is not this day,' Minerva said bracingly.

'No,' Albus agreed. 'It is not. And I pray every night that Harry might be grown and happy before that day arrives.'

'But you do not think it possible,' Minerva said, studying his face closely.

'I… hope it can be so,' he said instead. 'I will certainly do everything in my personal power to ensure it. The centaurs are slightly less optimistic.'

'You spoke with the centaurs?' Minerva asked in surprise. 'When?'

'I saw Magorian on Friday evening,' he admitted. 'I wished to inquire with Firenze directly, but he is in some measure of disgrace with the herd. They are not to interfere with human affairs, generally speaking.'

'He did not interfere,' Minerva pointed out in clipped tones. 'He spoke to Harry, yes, but he let Black escape. It was mere luck that Harry was not killed in the fight.'

'Perhaps,' said Dumbledore. 'Perhaps not. It is difficult to say what may have happened if Firenze had not appeared when he did. But, in any case, he has no permissions at the moment to leave their camp, and Magorian was unwilling to bend the restriction.'

'So what _did_ he offer, then?'

'Not much,' Albus said. 'He would say only that we wizards are in a lull between two wars, and that Mars grows brighter every night. They believe, or so I gather, that the bloodshed is imminent. Though, of course, centaurs and wizards measure time in relatively different fashions.'

'Stargazing and conjecture,' Minerva scoffed. 'Hardly a definitive premonition, Albus.'

Albus smiled. 'You hear what you wish to hear, Minnie,' he said softly. 'And I cannot fault you for it.'

He kissed her gently again, watching the moon rise higher above them. These quiet moments were a welcome reprieve from the worry and tumult of the day; the troubled thoughts of his mind. He relished the silence of the night.

'We ought to go in,' he said at last. 'Tomorrow will be a long day, and we should be merry for Harry's sake.'

'Today,' Minerva corrected. 'It is well past midnight already. But… not just yet,' she protested. 'Let's stay… just a few more moments.'

He acquiesced, too eager himself for the respite.

'Do you remember the day he was born?' she asked quietly, running her hand down Albus' arm. 'You were there at the cottage, weren't you?'

'I was,' said Albus, nodding. 'I could never forget it. A more terror-filled experience I have never had occasion to witness, or a more miraculous one. I thought it likely James Potter might curse me into oblivion before the drama had ended.'

'Curse _you_?' Minerva asked in shock. ' _James_? Oh never,' she disagreed. 'It was always Lily with the temper in that pair. Something Harry has inherited, I dare say. I never in my life saw James unhinged, he was much more laid back. I would even say carefree, had he lived in a different time.'

Albus chuckled. 'Indeed,' he agreed. 'Lily was a spitfire. But James… even he had his moments, under the right stressor, as I learned all too well that night.'

'I wish I could have been there,' Minerva whispered, looking out over the darkened grounds.

'Would you have come to my rescue?' Albus teased, kissing the top of her head.

Minerva gave a coy smile. 'That depends, I suppose.'

'On what?'

'On whether you were in the right,' she said primly.

Albus chortled. 'Well, I could not truly say then, on this,' he admitted. 'I like to think my decision was the correct one, but I suppose – had things gone differently – it could have been just as horribly wrong.'

'But they did not,' Minerva guessed.

'No, they did not,' Albus agreed with a smile, wrapping her more firmly in his arms.

Minerva sighed. 'Still,' she said, sobering once again, 'I do wish I'd been around a bit more often, when Harry was small. I wish I had more memories of James and Lily with him – that I could share a bit of their lives with him; show him how happy they were together, how much he was loved. He deserves to know that.' She sighed more heavily. 'He _deserves_ to still have them here,' she corrected.

Albus stiffened.

'What is it?' she asked worriedly, trying to turn in his hold to see his face.

'Nothing troubling,' he assured her. 'On the contrary… you have given me a most marvellous idea.'

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Remus had been at ease with his book again for a mere thirty minutes when another, softer knock echoed through the room. The distraction was almost welcome, for he had done nothing since Snape's very odd visit but contemplate the miseries that surrounded the situation, and think on a way to convince Harry he must sacrifice this most precious gift if he wanted to defend himself.

Setting the book aside, Remus hurried to welcome the caller. He frowned as he glanced at his watch.

'Headmaster,' he greeted in some surprise, opening the door more fully to let Dumbledore through. 'It's quite late, is everything alright?'

'Perfectly so, thank you,' Albus said with a smile, stepping over the threshold and taking a seat at Remus' inviting gesture. 'I do apologise for the hour – I was rather late in returning to the castle tonight. I hope I did not disturb your rest.'

'Not at all,' Remus assured him. 'I was only doing some reading. Would you care for tea, or perhaps a whisky?'

Albus hesitated. 'A nightcap, I think, would be welcome,' he said at last. 'Only best not mention it to Minerva, if you don't mind.'

Remus smirked. 'Our secret,' he promised, summoning the decanter and two glasses. He passed the headmaster a whisky and settled in the chair opposite with his own.

'So, to what do I owe the pleasure, Albus?'

The headmaster took a sip before answering. 'I was wondering if you might fulfil a request for me,' he said at last.

Remus furrowed his brow. 'To join the staff?' he asked. 'I _am_ thinking it over, Albus, I promise you. And I know you must send the booklists out quite soon. I will give you an answer by the start of next week.'

'No, not that, although I do hope you will oblige,' said Albus with a smile. 'I was actually wondering if you might provide a few memories.'

Remus was surprised. 'Memories of what, exactly?'

'Of Lily and James,' Albus said quietly. 'And Harry, when he was with them. It was brought to my attention this evening that he has no independent recollections of his parents… a deficit I should have corrected much earlier, and hope to address now, with your help.'

'You spoke to Severus,' Remus said, breathing a sigh of relief. 'Good. It's been preying on my mind this half-hour. I was hoping to –'

'Severus?' Albus repeated, his eyebrows raised. 'No… no, I haven't seen Severus in several days, in fact. What has he to do with it?'

Remus recounted the visit he'd received earlier in the night, and the disconcerting news the Potions master had brought. When he finished, Albus was frowning.

'A disturbing and worrisome development,' he said at last, touching his fingers to his chin in thought. 'I had not realised Harry was aware of what memories, precisely, the Dementors were causing him to relive. I will address it, I promise you. But it only reaffirms my belief that we should give him these recollections – something brighter to remember them by, so he will not feel the need to cling to such tragic memories.'

'And I will help if I can, of course, headmaster,' Remus agreed quickly. 'But I wonder… if I am really the best person to assist.'

'Why ever not?' Albus asked in surprise. 'Who better than you – who were so close to Lily and James and around so often when Harry was small? You must have more memories even than myself.'

'I'm sure,' Remus said, a pained expression crossing his face. 'But… they are all so interwoven, Albus. Sirius is in many of them. I would not want to colour the gift with his presence, nor – I expect – would you want Harry to discover the extent of their connection in such a way.'

'Ah,' said Albus in understanding. 'Of course, I should have considered… but it is no matter. You must have some in which Black does not appear – and a few happy recollections are all I request. Something for Harry to cherish, apart from their last, horrific moments together.'

'Of – of course,' agreed Remus, already racking his brains in thought. 'I'm sure I can find several that might be acceptable. When were you hoping to give these to him?'

Albus' eyes twinkled. 'I'm afraid I am giving dreadfully short notice,' he admitted. 'If it is not too much to ask, I should be very grateful if you would come by after breakfast tomorrow. I can assist you to extract the memories, and we can present them together to Harry at luncheon.'

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'So, I hear some nutter's gone and closed down my pub for a celebration,' Aberforth grumbled in mock disgruntlement, tossing a tattered rag at Harry from behind the bar as he, Albus and entered through the door.

Harry laughed, catching it easily before the filthy cloth could touch his face. 'Thanks!' he said, grinning impishly as he held up the rag. 'I've been wanting one of these.'

'Sharp reflexes for a cheeky devil,' Aberforth grunted, coming around the counter to greet them properly and mussing the top of Harry's head.

'You should see him on a broomstick,' Minerva said, bumping her cheek against the barkeep's. 'He's a true talent, it's incredible.'

'It is terrifying,' Albus disagreed, grasping hands stiffly with his brother.

Harry turned to face the headmaster with his best hurt expression. 'You don't mean that,' he said quietly.

'I do,' Albus said seriously. He fixed Harry with a grave expression, though his twinkling eyes gave it away. 'I am never more fearful of sudden cardiac arrest than when I am watching you play at Quidditch.'

'Then we'd best ensure you're in the air more often,' Aberforth quipped, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

'Abe!' Minerva chastised. 'Don't joke about such things.'

'Eh, Minnie, Albus knows I'm only taking the mickey,' he assured her with a quelling smile. 'We'd all be lost without him, much as it pains me to admit. Remus!' he greeted, turning again as the doorbell tinkled once more. 'Good to see you, lad, good to see you.' He grasped Remus' hand tightly.

'And you, Aberforth,' Remus said, smiling as the broke off the handshake. 'Been keeping well, I hope? I keep meaning to stop in, but things have been quite busy this summer.'

'Well enough, well enough,' Aberforth said. 'And how about yourself? Looking a tad peaky there, I must say.'

'Oh, I'm fine,' Remus said lightly. But Harry thought he seemed a little nervous… and he _was_ paler and slightly more hollow-cheeked than Harry remembered him looking on Thursday.

'You're not getting ill again?' Harry asked in a hushed voice, as Aberforth ushered the rest toward a booth.

'I'm fine, Harry,' Remus assured him gently. 'Don't worry.'

'So, the man of the day on the end,' Aberforth insisted, pulling a high stool out for Harry to climb up. 'Budge up there, Remus, and we'll squeeze in together.'

Everyone shuffled around to get comfortable. Harry felt a bit embarrassed… but happy, as he gazed around the crowded booth. It was almost like having a proper family meal. This was a different sort of birthday than his time with Ron and Hermione last year; but the table was full of laughter, good food and butterbeer, and Harry could not help but enjoy it immensely. They worked their way through several delicious dishes and an enormous cake with treacle, which Minerva wouldn't allow seconds on – even for Albus, who compromised in advance by plating up three times a normal serving for himself and for Harry.

After the food, there were presents. Aberforth, as it turned out, had more in mind than just a filthy dishrag. He gifted Harry with an enormous box with the Zonko's logo emblazoned across the gloss cover. He leaned hastily over to slam it shut as Harry made to peek inside.

'Not in front of 'em' he warned out of the corner of his mouth, winking at Harry as he nodded his head at Minerva and Albus. 'Or you'll never get away with any of it _on_ them, will you, lad?'

Harry grinned conspiratorially and thanked the barman politely, grimacing as he mussed his hair again.

Remus gave him a handsome leather wand holster.

'It isn't new, I'm afraid,' he said apologetically, as Harry ran his fingers over the curious etchings in the leather. 'It belonged to my father. But it is warded with runic magic, which is supposed to make it impossible for anyone but the owner to retrieve the wand. I never took Ancient Runes, myself, but I'm sure the headmaster could explain the symbols more clearly.'

'It's wonderful. Thank you, Remus,' Harry said, as Dumbledore held out his hand to examine the runes. 'This – you didn't have to give me anything. It really means a lot.'

And he meant it. He knew that Remus wasn't a wealthy man – had far less, really, than Harry had himself. That he would have chosen to give Harry something from his own family history meant more than if he'd gone out and bought half of Honeydukes.

'Very interesting,' Albus said, still mulling over the symbols. 'You see here,' he asked, leaning over to point one out to Harry. 'This series works like an anti-summoning charm, so nobody would be able to summon your wand or disarm you while it remained in the holster. This one,' he turned the leather slightly, 'Is a protection rune – like a shield charm. It keeps what is inside from damage or harm. And this,' he adjusted his grip again to show Harry the etching on the very bottom, 'Is a rune of recognition – so that the object knows its owner and its owner's weapon. The craftsmanship is quite impressive,' he finished, twinkling at Remus over his spectacles.

'I didn't know runes could do that,' said Harry, taking the holster back from the headmaster and examining the etchings for himself. 'I always thought, well,' he blushed a bit, feeling stupid.

'That Ancient Runes was a study in old and outdated magic?' Albus guessed, turning his twinkling gaze at him.

'Well… yeah, sort of,' Harry admitted. 'I mean, it isn't a required class, is it? And I know Runes are powerful, but you can do a lot of those types of things with ordinary spellwork, can't you?'

Minerva scoffed. ' _This_ is why I should have insisted we drop Divination from his proposed timetable!' she complained to the headmaster. 'He could be _learning_ something next term, Albus, instead of listening to that useless old fraud prattle on.'

Albus chuckled, though Harry was not at all sure that McGonagall meant it for a joke.

'Not at all, Harry,' he said, turning back to him without comment on Minerva's exclamation. 'I've hinted before that we shall cover some study in Ancient Runes during our lessons together. Perhaps before the end of the summer… but, more likely, in the next year or two. Runes are a powerful form of enchantment, and they are – as you have no doubt deduced – heavily rooted in ancient magic. There are many different branches of runic magic, usually representative of the different wizarding cultures in which they developed. Many predate the use of wands, while others are etched by wand alone. It is a demarcation for magic performed with carved incantation rather than spoken, more so than it is a different branch of magic in subject matter. And it is true that runic magic has fallen largely out of practise, as society has modernised with the times. But runes are still used quite frequently in the most powerful forms of protective magic. Particularly in the construction of wards. I wonder if you can spot the advantage?'

'Albus!' Aberforth interjected, rolling his eyes. 'You _cannot_ mean to quiz the boy on his _birthday_?'

'Let him try it, Aberforth,' Minerva chided, watching Harry keenly.

Harry frowned, trying to remember what he'd learned about warding… and what he knew about spellwork more generally.

 _An advantage that would come from_ not _incanting a spell? Wandless magic gave an advantage because you don't need a_ wand _… but Albus had said that some runes were used_ only _with a wand… Nonverbal casting gave an advantage because you don't give away your spell… But a wizard could_ read _another wizard's rune, so that didn't make sense. Except, with nonverbal spells, the real advantage was that there wouldn't be time for_ –

'Countercharming?' Harry guessed. 'With spells – normal spells, I mean – you can shield, or you can counter. But how can you counter runic magic, if the magic is sort of… constant?'

'Very good, Harry,' Remus praised. Aberforth rolled his eyes.

'That is correct,' Albus agreed. 'For one, unlike with spoken incantation, curses and wards cast by way of runic magic do not usually die with the caster's death or defeat. And, regardless of the caster's health, runic magic is much more difficult to counter than traditional spellwork. There are _some_ spells which will allow you to overpower a rune, but most are variations of cloaking spells, and even they are difficult or impossible to use against a powerful runic defence.'

'Cloaking spell?' Harry repeated, confused by the term.

'An enchantment based in concealment,' Albus explained. 'In the present case, some charm which would confuse the rune into thinking you are someone else – someone who is not a threat or, perhaps, nobody at all. With runic magic, it is usually necessary to cloak one's magical signature entirely. Most wizards cannot accomplish it. The more advanced the runes are, the more difficult that becomes. If a counter spell is not possible, there are only two options – to destroy the rune, which breaks the magic, or to provide a counter-rune. The former can be easy or utterly impossible, depending on how the rune was created and the ability of the wizard seeking to destroy it to know, precisely, which rune it is that blocks him and _where_ that rune is etched. The latter is a bit more straight-forward, but it is completely dependent on the individual rune to be countered. It becomes more difficult if there are multiple runes involved in the protection, as their magics intermingle. Older runes strengthen with time, so are harder to counter. Runes must usually be undone by the same method of inscription by which they were created. And, of course, sometimes one must _invent_ a counter-rune, if there is no known balance in existence. The process can take a lifetime.'

'You want me to _learn_ all that,' Harry asked, frightened by the very prospect of this daunting, completely mad field of magic.

Albus smiled. 'Not this afternoon,' he clarified. 'But eventually… yes, I think you should learn some degree of runic magic.'

Harry thought his brain was likely to explode from the influx of information. Remus looked apologetic. Even Minerva was staring at the headmaster in confusion, and Harry was pretty sure she could read Ancient Runes _and_ probably knew all of what the headmaster had just theorised. Aberforth looked downright disgusted.

'I give him a box of pranks, you give him a leather bracelet, and Albus gives him a lecture,' Aberforth grumbled to Remus. 'I'm just saying, who's the winner here?'

Everyone laughed, even Dumbledore, and the gaiety revived a bit. Harry hooked the holster around his forearm, smiling at it even if he couldn't read the strange markings yet.

'Thank you all,' he said, looking around the table with great affection. 'I really – I really appreciate this. It's nice, to all be together today. And you were too generous; I don't deserve all this.'

'Of course you do, Harry,' said Minerva fondly. She reached past Albus to squeeze his hand.

'And there is just one more thing,' Albus added.

He swirled his wand through the air and an ornately carved box of polished mahogany appeared, floating gently down to land in front of Harry on the table. Harry fingered the brass fastenings, furrowing his brow as he looked at Albus and then at Minerva. They had given him a marble set of wizard chessmen, a fur-lined winter-weight cloak and several new sets of robes first thing this morning.

'You guys already gave me a gift,' he said, feeling awkward.

'We did,' Albus agreed with a nod. 'But this is from all of us – Minerva, Remus, Aberforth and myself. And Hagrid, as well.'

Harry felt nervous as he ran his fingers along the wood again.

'Open it, boy,' Aberforth encouraged impatiently.

Harry turned the little brass hook, pushing the lid of the box up carefully. The interior was lined with deep purple velvet. Cushioned against the plush lining were several rows of neat phials, all corked, sealed and swirling in different patterns of a silvery substance. Harry reached out a trembling hand, hovering it lightly over the nearest phial.

'Are these…'

'Memories,' Albus confirmed, as Harry continued to stare in awe at the shimmering silver phials. 'You recognise the substance, I'm sure, from your foray into the Pensieve last year.'

'Yes,' Harry agreed, still fascinated by the box. He looked up at Dumbledore. 'They… they're beautiful, but I don't understand,' he said quietly. 'Why have you given me memories? Whose are they? _What_ are they?'

'They are love, Harry,' Albus said quietly.

Beside him, Minerva's eyes were tearful. She dabbed inconspicuously at them, while Harry continued to stare at the headmaster.

'These,' the headmaster gestured at the array of glass tubes, 'Are memories that we have of your parents, and of you – of the time you shared together. We thought it was time you had the chance to see them.'

Harry's eyes widened, as he stared hungrily down at the box again. He wanted to touch one of the precious phials; to be pulled in to it right here, right now. But he was afraid he might break it.

'This… I don't know what to say,' he admitted, looking around the table at all four of them. 'This is… this is the best birthday present _anyone_ has ever given me; could ever give me. This is incredible. It's – it's everything.' He felt his own eyes filling, but he couldn't even bring himself to feel embarrassed. 'Thank you,' he whispered finally.

Dumbledore smiled softly, brushing the back of his knuckles briefly down Harry's cheek. 'They loved you more than life itself, Harry,' he said seriously. 'You were their world. As, now, you are mine.'

Before Harry could think about it, he had thrown himself at Dumbledore, nearly sending the stool crashing to the ground in his haste. The headmaster caught him easily. He held him tight as Harry wrapped his arms around his neck, surprising Harry with the strength in his grip.

'Thank you so much, Albus,' he whispered, his voice choked up with emotion and the headmaster's significant amount of flowing white hair. 'This means so much to me. I can't wait to see them.'

'Memories are a beautiful thing, Harry,' Albus said quietly in his ear. 'And I hope these will be of some comfort to you, and that you will cherish them. Just… do not let yourself become so caught up in the past, that you forget to live for your future.'

'I won't,' Harry promised, pushing back a little from the headmaster's arms so that Albus could see the sincerity in his face. 'I promise.'

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 _'Sirius, let us see,' came a voice at his ear._

 _Sirius jumped. Albus must have apparated straight to the cottage, and he had brought Poppy Pomfrey with him. Any sound of their arrival had been drowned out by his own heartbeat pounding in his ears._

 _'Blood,' he said stupidly, redoubling his grip on the towels. 'There's so much blood. I tried – I tried to tell her. Tried to make her go. Tried to wake her_ up. _I tried –'_

 _'I know,' said Albus softly. 'Come – it will be alright.' He put a hand gently on Sirius arm, pulling lightly._

 _Vaguely, Sirius felt Madam Pomfrey's hands over his own. Her jaw was set and grim, but her focus was all-business. Slowly, he removed his pressure to allow her in._

 _'Albus, fetch blood replenisher,' she said in a clipped voice. 'Spell in four phials from my bag.'_

 _The headmaster summoned the potion at once, muttering a complicated charm as he directed the doses from their phials into Lily's prone form. Sirius backed away from the bed, watching the blood replenisher disappear into Lily's white skin in morbid fascination. The huge bulge of her stomach was bare now._

 _'James,' he croaked out finally, as Dumbledore finished with the administration and covered Lily's torso up again._

 _'He was just arrived as we set out,' Albus said. 'He was waiting for Lancelot, to apparate him in past the wards. They will be here any moment.'_

 _As if on cue, Sirius heard footsteps pounding up the stairs. A moment later, the healer preceded James into the bedroom, rushing at once to join Poppy in the crisis management._

 _'Lily, oh Merlin!' James voice echoed from the door. He was white-faced and absolutely filthy, covered with muck and grime. He dove at once for his unresponsive wife, but Sirius tackled him, gripping him around the chest with both arms before he could reach her._

 _'Get off!' James growled, pushing at his hands. 'That's my wife!'_

 _'Are you mad, mate?' Sirius hissed back, panting with the effort of keeping James restrained. 'You're covered in filth – you can't touch her in this state, when she's bleeding all over the place. You'll kill her with infection!'_

 _James deflated at once, looking horrified at himself._

 _'I – what happened?' he said in a hopeless tone. 'What went wrong? It – it wasn't supposed to be like this.'_

 _Nobody answered him, too intensely focused on Lily._

 _'Have the baby in the fucking cottage,' James spat at Albus, turning on him with eyes wide with terror and fury. 'I cannot believe I let you talk me into this.'_

 _'It isn't safe for Lily or the baby in hospital,' Albus reminded him gently. 'You know that, James. I was only trying to –'_

 _'It isn't safe for them_ here _!' James bellowed back. 'Look at her! If I lose her over this…' he trailed off, swallowing deeply. Sirius had never seen him lose control this way before – it was normally Lily who shouted. 'I will never forgive you, Albus, I swear it.'_

 _'Prongs,' Sirius said, trying to drag him back. 'Come on, mate, you have to let them work.'_

 _James relented, allowing Sirius to pull him toward the edge of the room. Sirius gave him a once-over. He looked a right mess. The candles in the room were flickering again, but Sirius did his best to ignore them._

 _'Come here,' he said, turning James a bit so he could see him better. 'And take off your robes.'_

 _James grimaced, but pulled the filthy work robes from over his head, dropping them carelessly into a corner. The shirt and trousers beneath were relatively clean, but Sirius cast several disinfecting charms on him anyway._

 _'Hands,' he said tightly._

 _James held them out without a word. Sirius conjured a flannel, wiping the worst of the grime away before spelling them clean as well. He cast a few last charms on James' face, vanishing the evidence of the day._

 _'Are you injured at all?' he asked, once James appeared a little more respectable._

 _'No,' James breathed quietly, his eyes still on the frantic bustle around the bed._

 _'You're_ sure _?' Sirius pressed, not trusting his friend in this state._

 _James shook his head. 'Not that kind of day,' he said. 'We had to tramp through some pretty rough woods to get to the contact, but there wasn't any fighting.'_

 _'Alright,' Sirius relented._

 _James was already moving back toward the bed. Sirius followed, some of the helpless anxiety returning now that he no longer had a task at hand._

 _'It's alright,' Albus assured them both as they re-joined the group. 'Lancelot has the bleeding under control, and we have given Lily blood replenisher already. Poppy is about to start dilating her, to make it easier for the baby to come. Lily will be alright, James.'_

 _'Will she wake up?' James said, moving closer to run his fingers through her long red hair. 'Doesn't she have to push him out?'_

 _Albus shook his head. 'Poppy can do it for her magically,' he said softly. 'We do not want to put her through the strain of natural childbirth right now. She will wake when her body is ready.'_

 _James hesitated, biting his lip. 'Maybe we should wait,' he suggested. 'Until Lily's ready, I mean. Maybe tomorrow, or –'_

 _'James,' Albus said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. 'We cannot wait, my dear boy. The baby is in danger the longer we delay. He is ready to come today.'_

 _'All set to get started?' Madam Pomfrey asked James, as she wiped her hands on a cloth._

 _'I don't –' James hesitated, looking lost as he stared at the matron's towel. Whatever crisis might had passed – the white fabric had quickly gone scarlet._

 _'Prongs,' said Sirius, smiling at him from the other side of Lily. 'It's all good, mate. You're about to be a father.'_

 _'A father,' James repeated, coming to a bit._

 _'That's right,' Sirius encouraged. 'So let's get a move on, yeah? I want to hold my godson.'_

 _'Right,' James said, running his hand over Lily's hair again. 'Right. Yeah. Let's do it. Okay.'_

 _He nodded at Madam Pomfrey, who gave him a reassuring smile._

 _'Very good,' she said. 'Let's get going then.'_

 _They started making magical adjustments to the bed. Sirius hurried out of the way – and the line of sight – moving around to stand behind James. James, for his part, was clutching one of Lily's motionless hands like a lifeline, darting terrified glances between her face and Albus'. He seemed too nervous to look down to where Madam Pomfrey and Lancelot Prewett were busy._

 _'What if she never wakes up?' James hissed to Sirius, as the latter joined him by Lily's head. 'What if she's_ not _okay? I can't do this by myself, Padfoot. I don't know shite about babies.'_

 _'You don't know shite about shite,' Sirius quipped, trying to inject a bit of the old humour into his voice, though he had never been in a situation_ less _amusing in his life._

 _'Relax,' he said, squeezing James' shoulder. 'It's all going to be fine.'_

 _'And… baby's out,' Poppy said from below. Both James and Sirius half-rose from their crouch, but the matron was still bent low over the baby's form, and they could see nothing but a tuft of jet-black hair. 'Lance – if you could,' Poppy added, her voice a bit more strained._

 _'Coming,' the healer – who had been adjusting a monitor over Lily's head – said at once._

 _He hurried over to join Poppy, who moved aside a bit so he could get in. In the fleeting instant there was a clear line of sight, Sirius saw the baby was a funny shade of blue. He turned quickly to block James' view, shooting a glance at Dumbledore. The headmaster looked equally anxious as he too made to join the healers._

 _'Why isn't he crying?' James demanded, panic rising again in his voice as he tried to skirt Sirius' body. 'Aren't they supposed to –'_

 _But he was interrupted, as a tiny, insistent wail filled the room._

 _Sirius breathed a heavy sigh of relief, as James too relaxed beside him._

 _'He's alright,' James said, tears of relief welling in his eyes. 'He's alright.'_

 _'He's perfect,' Poppy announced, glowing with pride herself as she straightened up with a tiny, swaddled bundle. 'Sometimes they just need a little encouragement coming into the world.'_

 _'Stubborn, like his father,' another voice whispered behind them._

 _Sirius and James whipped round at once. Lily was awake, looking tired but perfectly content, her eyes dancing with joy as she drank in James' face._

 _'I didn't think you make it in time,' she griped playfully._

 _'Oh, my darling,' James said, half-laughing, half-crying as he hurried to kiss her. 'You scared the life out of me, you know that?'_

 _'Well, it was my turn,' she said with a smirk. She half raised her arms. 'Can I see him?'_

 _Madam Pomfrey approached at once, the baby still fussing in her arms. 'You did beautifully, dear,' she said tearfully, bending over to place the child on Lily's chest. 'Steady him, James,' she added. 'Lily's not quite strong enough yet.'_

 _Obediently, James sat himself on the edge of the bed, placing one hand below the little bundle as Lily took him in her arms. The hand was nearly as long as the baby's entire body. Albus led the healers quietly from the room to give the others some space, leaving the door cracked just a smidge._

 _'He's beautiful,' Lily breathed through tears, staring in awe at the baby's face._

 _'You're beautiful,' James said huskily, leaning in to kiss her again._

 _'I'm beautiful,' Sirius put in. 'Not that anyone's noticed lately.'_

 _'Padfoot,' James growled, not taking his eyes from his new little family. 'You're sort of ruining a tender moment here.'_

 _Lily laughed. 'It's alright,' she said. 'Come and meet him, Sirius.'_

 _Sirius sidled slowly closer, looking down at the baby in her arms in some trepidation. He almost resented this tiny wizard, who had so nearly taken Lily from them. Although the scene in the bedroom had faded into contented calm, Sirius couldn't help but remember the last few hours as he stared down at the child._

 _Lily collapsing into him in the front hall; lights flashing like some demonic omen; glass bursting into shards; and the blood… so much blood everywhere. Sirius' hands turning red as he fought to keep Lily from dying, so sure he would fail before help arrived._

 _Then the baby gave a tiny yawn, and opened its eyes to stare at him. And Sirius could not imagine a world in which this child wasn't everything._

 _'Your eyes, Lils,' he said, giving her an impish smile. 'Got to admit, they're even better in a boy. He's gonna kill it with the ladies when he puts on a few inches. Pity it looks like he'll have Prongs' face.'_

 _James growled and punched at him. Sirius dodged._

 _'Not by the baby, you idiots!' Lily hissed, pulling the bundle closer protectively. She gave a little gasp at the effort, and James and Sirius broke off the mock row immediately, hovering._

 _'Sorry, sorry!' Sirius said at once, while James steadied the child again._

 _Sirius brushed at the top of the baby's mop of black hair in apology. The gesture was much more natural than he could have imagined._

 _'Not even ten minutes old, and I'm already making you trouble,' he said with a smile. The baby hadn't cried at the ruckus, but continued to stare up at him with green-eyed curiosity. It would have been slightly unnerving from anyone older._

 _'What's his name, then?' Sirius asked, looking up from the child to his parents. 'It feels a bit weird to call him "him" or "it," doesn't it?'_

 _'He's not an "it," you clot!' James chastised playfully. But Lily was looking at him very seriously._

 _'You saved him, Sirius,' she said softly. 'You were brilliant. Without your help today, he would have died._ I _would have died. You know that, don't you?'_

 _Sirius felt a bit hot in the face. 'Lils – it's no big deal,' he said uncomfortably. 'I mean,' he corrected as she started to protest, 'I love you. All of you. I'll always be there, if you need me.'_

 _'Thank you,' she said, with a small smile. 'We love you too.'_

 _'Yes, yes, everyone loves you, and you're beautiful,' said James, with an impatient wave of the hand in Sirius' direction. 'Give him here, love, it's my turn.'_

 _Lily obediently passed over the baby, watching tenderly as James rocked him softly, cooing nonsense with his head bent low. Then she turned back to Sirius again._

 _'You saved him,' she repeated. 'So, I think it would only be fair to let you name him.'_

 _'Really?' asked Sirius, completely thrown._

 _'_ What _?' James snarled. He stopped his cooing at once and stared from Sirius to his wife in horror. 'No way – not a chance.'_

 _'James,' Lily chastised, her eyes flashing dangerously._

 _'Lils,' James said, coming back over to the bed with a pleading expression. 'It's alright, love. You've obviously had too much potion –'_

 _'Don't you dare,' Lily warned._

 _'Hey – no takebacks!' Sirius joked._

 _'Shut it, Padfoot,' James retorted. 'Lily,' he smoothed her hair back with a placating look. 'We let Sirius pick one of the Marauder nicknames, did you know that? We each got to choose one. Do you know which one he supplied?'_

 _'Wormtail,' put in a new voice from the doorway._

 _All four of them, even the baby, reacted at once. Sirius spun to see Moony, a grin breaking across his face at the sight. Lily gasped again as she too attempted automatically to face the visitor, and immediately fell backward in pain. James had jumped so badly he sent the baby into a wobbly, and was now torn between trying to greet the new arrival, hushing the outraged child, and attempting to tend to his wife._

 _'Sorry, Lily,' Remus said in sympathy, hurrying over to the bed. 'Albus let me in. And Peter. He's downstairs, he thought there might still be blood up here. I didn't mean to startle – oh wow, is this him?' he asked unnecessarily, leaning over James to see the baby._

 _The child stopped fussing as the new face came into view, fixing his gaze on Remus._

 _'He has your eyes, Lils,' Remus said, his own twinkling. 'Shame it's James' face though.'_

 _'Why does_ everyone _keep saying that?' James grumbled in mock indignation._

 _'Can we get back to me?' Sirius moaned._

 _'I said no, Padfoot.'_

 _Remus looked between them in amusement. 'So, apart from what I've heard was a harrowing birth experience, what did I miss?'_

 _'I'm about to announce the baby's name,' Sirius informed him._

 _'It's not happening,' James snapped. 'You're rubbish with names; we've just recounted that.'_

 _'Give us a chance,' Sirius protested. 'I was fifteen last time.'_

 _'I said –'_

 _'_ I _said, he gets to do it,' Lily said decisively from the bed. 'And as_ I'm _the one who got to go through labour, I get veto rights here.'_

 _James ground his teeth, but wisely did not retort._

 _'Fine,' he relented. 'So are we naming him after you then?' he asked in resignation._

 _'No…' Sirius said, thinking it over carefully. 'I don't like my name much, too many puns at play.'_

 _'What about a family name?' Lily suggested. 'You must have one that you like.'_

 _Sirius shook his head. 'Never got on well with my family,' he reminded her. 'It was always James' parents who looked out for me…'_

 _'We aren't naming him Fleamont,' James said firmly. 'I loved my father, but that's a horrid thing to do to a child.'_

 _'No,' Sirius agreed. 'But what about Harry? I always liked Grandad Harry. And it's a nice, short name. Goes with James, if you're going to keep with tradition.'_

 _'Not Henry?' Lily asked, frowning._

 _'No,' Sirius said decisively. 'Grandad Harry hated to be called Henry. He always thought it was too stuffy. He was Harry. Just Harry.'_

 _'I… like it,' James said, almost distrustfully. 'It's simple. Strong.'_

 _'Which is good,' Remus opined, 'Because this kid's life will be complicated enough.'_

 _'Harry James Potter,' Lily said, smiling softly as she reclaimed the baby from her husband._

 _'Welcome to the world.'_

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 15:**

 **BlueWater5** : Thank you for your review! Glad you enjoyed that bit. I thought it might make for an interesting change of pace from another traditional Snape rant. I think we could have easily gone with the Snape-chews-Harry-out-again route… but it's so much more interesting to watch the tension grow, and I think it almost fits better with Harry's character arc here.

 **AECM** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you liked the Snape-Harry interaction; although you are correct, I don't know that Harry really understood the subtext… which was perhaps Snape's intention – he's not particularly good at apologising… but it needed to be said. He _definitely_ doesn't understand Snape's own guilt over the Potters' deaths (he reads it entirely as discomfort with Harry's emotional outburst). The darker side to Harry's childhood is definitely a subtext that weaves throughout these scenes – it's something I'm trying to integrate into this book in general, because it is so much a story of Harry's transition _out_ of childhood, and away from innocence; and we can't really get there without addressing that – in many ways – he was stripped of some of that innocence far too early. Although we have seen snippets of adults confronting Harry about what went on with the Dursleys, he has yet to confide in anyone about the cupboard, or details of his neglect. I haven't forgotten that's a conversation we'll need to have in greater detail – and neither has Minerva.

And I agree – Minerva is a brilliant character that has sides well worth exploring in greater detail. As is Sirius… who is really a lot of fun to write, particularly before the imprisonment that completely reshaped his being. Thanks again for your review – and I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

 **Anyeshabaner** (Chapters 14  & 15): Thank you for the review! I think you are correct, in part (see my longer, more detailed explanation of my views on Albus-Gellert in the comments at the end of Chapter 15). Gellert and Albus certainly have _some_ sort of history; and I think Gellert represents a sort of inner-demon for Albus… his darker side incarnate, perhaps, in part. I think there's also an element of knowing when one's chastisement would be pointless… Albus scolds Gellert at times, or expresses disagreement, but there is really only so far to push a row when one of the participants is imprisoned, with no prospect of ever leaving his cell. Albus, I think, considers Gellert quite moulded in his own beliefs; and though he is certainly unnerving, he is not really a threat – at least, not a physical one. I think Albus intends to use Gellert for his insights, which can be helpful at times, and to bounce his own ideas off someone with just as sharp a mind (bent just as sharply in an opposite direction). It's a bit like debating with the angel on one shoulder and the devil on your other.

As to Sirius… yes, I think he is a combination of the two – or, rather, he represents that guilt and innocence are not so clearly defined. Just as so many of the other characters do, in their turn.

 **Leonore** : Thank you for your great review! I'm glad you are enjoying it so much. Yes, Lily gets through it (spoiler! Haha). But… I just couldn't resist the drama of an exciting birth (it is Harry Potter's birth, after all) – and I wanted to put Sirius in the thick of it. I'm glad you liked the way the first half played out, and I hope you approved of the conclusion. The first flashback (the 'lighter' one, as you called it) was something I wrote a while ago, and was waiting for the right moment to integrate. It's something I am _so_ excited for in my own pregnancy… the moment when you can feel the baby actually growing inside you. No matter how many people I've talked to who have had babies before, that seems to be everyone's favourite 'pregnancy moment.' And my closest friend is a male, so perhaps I shall put him through something similar – he was my inspiration for how awkwardly I thought Sirius might react to the proposal. : )

I addressed the Snape and Minerva interactions a bit above, so I'll skip it here… but I'm very happy you liked those scenes as well. Please keep reading and reviewing!

 **Lumos 34** : Thank you for your review! Yes, there will definitely be more Minerva-Harry scenes in future. I spoke a bit about this in one of the other responses, but I just love writing their interactions and watching her protective side. I hope you'll have enjoyed this chapter as well!

 **LordTicky** : Thank you for the review and continued support! I'm glad you like the flashback scenes… they're definitely among my favourite to share.

 **Sopnew** : Thank you for reading and reviewing! I'm very glad you are pleased with the story, and thank you for the advice! I'll try and follow – though I must admit, as exhausted as I've been in the day, I also find it _so_ hard to stay asleep at night! It's a paradigm I very much hope eases up a bit as we get further along. : )

 **Me** (Guest reviewer): Thank you for your review! I'm thrilled that you're so excited about the story, and it's wonderful to hear from readers who are loving it! : ) You'll have your answer by now to the query from end of last chapter… but I hope you liked the conclusion to the flashback sequence. Thank you for your support and definitely keep reading and reviewing!

 **Shadowhunter** : Thank you again for reviewing – and congratulations on your new computer! Nothing more exciting than that moment when you open a fresh, unblemished laptop for the first time… and think of _all_ the new files and customisations you'll be filling it with!

I agree on Snape – he's a _super_ complicated character, and a lot of that is wrapped up in his guilt and self-loathing that permeate all his relationships. It's Albus's ability to cut through a lot of this which I think makes him such a lifeline for Severus; and consequently Albus's disappointment, here, is a lot of the catalyst behind Snape's less-than-stellar 'bender.' His feelings for Harry are so wrapped up and confused between Harry himself, Lily, James, and his own hand in Harry's orphaning that I think even Severus can't quite work out what they are.

Poor Sirius… he has _so_ many problems, and Wormtail is really just the manifestation of one of them. We're seeing more and more into his past, but we haven't even scratched the surface, really, of what this means for his future. I definitely agree that his long incarceration has made him unstable and in some ways 'frozen' at 21… which is one of the reasons it is so hard for canon Sirius to let go of the past and carve a place for himself in Harry's future. Remus too has shouldered far too many burdens and far too much prejudice… but at least he has been free to work through some of it.

I'm glad you liked the Minerva bit, and thanks for the vote of confidence! : ) Though, I must admit, being only 27 myself and only an _expectant_ mother, I'm not sure I know all that much about raising children either… but these are the sort of things my mum always instilled in me, and I hope I will be able to make clear to my own children, one day.

Anyway, thank you for reviewing, and hope you enjoy the continuation!


	17. The Memories

**A/N:** So, I wanted to give a bit of a preview as to where we're heading timing-wise in this story…

First (just after the break), we'll journey with Harry through the Pensieve… I hope you all enjoy the trip. I felt I could not move forward into the next instalment without addressing some of the memories, because I was certain Harry would not have much patience either where these were concerned. So this chapter will be flashback heavy. Chapter 18 will see our Golden Trio attend the professional Quidditch match in Edinburgh that Harry bought tickets to for Ron and Hermione last Christmas (see _Yuletide_ , Part I Ch. 20). After that, we will have two more chapters of summer hols, then convene with the start of autumn term around the beginning of September real-time.

Review responses at the end of the chapter again – thank you SO much to everyone who commented! I really do appreciate hearing from the readers, and encourage everyone to share their thoughts!

Enjoy Chapter 17!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 17: The Memories**

All through the rest of the day, Harry could think only of the box of memories. He wanted to rush straight back to the castle from lunch and beg Dumbledore to allow him to use the Pensieve. But Albus told him, gently, that he thought it would be best to wait until after supper. So Harry wiled away the later portion of the afternoon opening gifts from abroad that Hermione and Ron had sent, and visiting with Hagrid, whom he hadn't seen much of this summer at all. He tried to get the gamekeeper to tell him which memories he himself had contributed to Harry's new collection… but Hagrid would only admit, with a wink, that he'd provided two for the occasion.

By the time supper had ended, Harry thought the anticipation might well kill him. He practically bounded the seven staircases up to the headmaster's quarters when the dinner broke up, and paced impatiently before the hearth as Albus retrieved the stone basin.

'Harry,' the headmaster said, looking seriously at him over the edge of the Pensieve, 'I do want to impress on you that I _meant_ what I said earlier today. These memories are yours now, and I shall not take that away… but I want you to exercise great caution in how you chose to treasure them. As I told you the day I discovered you in front of the Mirror of Erised, we are forsaken if we pine only for dreams of the past, and forget to live our lives. Your parents would not thank you if you spent _your_ life watching theirs… do you understand?'

'Yes,' Harry agreed at once. 'I promise, Albus.'

'Very well,' the headmaster said, smiling. 'Then I think you should chose three to view tonight. It is usually best to take these things in smaller doses. I shall make the journey with you, in case explanations are needed.'

Harry opened the precious box again, hovering his hand above the rows of silver phials. There were no labels, so he would be going in blind. With a thrill of anticipation, he selected the first phial. It felt almost warm in his hand.

'This one,' he said, holding the memory out to Dumbledore. The headmaster smiled as he uncorked it, tipping the silvery substance into the basin below. The memory pooled and shifted, swirling bits of colour flashing by as it settled in the Pensieve.

'Come,' Albus said, holding his hand out to Harry. 'And let us take the plunge together.'

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Harry was standing in an ordinary village street, brightly light in a summer's sun. The lane was lined with cosy looking brick cottages, each set back from the street and surrounded by flowing gardens. The village was alive in a lazy sort of way, children running about in a distant square and people in fine dress and hats filing out of a little church down the way, where bells tolled the end of services. Harry thought it must be a Sunday.

In front of him, a woman in a long green dress was walking briskly down the row of houses, darting glances about her that suggested a wariness inapposite with the pleasant summer's day. Harry recognised the high black bun, though the Muggle clothing was odd to witness.

'You must follow her,' the headmaster whispered at his side. 'You will not be able to remain here if she moves out of sight.'

Harry nodded, hurrying up the lane after Minerva's hem. She moved quickly. and though the headmaster could match pace with ease, Harry had to run a bit to keep up with his much-shorter legs. He was slightly breathless when at last she stopped – outside the gate at the very end of the row of houses. Withdrawing her wand from her sleeve, Minerva muttered a low incantation, tapping the top of the iron. The gate glowed gold as she finished the spell, and swing inward to admit her. Dumbledore nodded Harry to follow.

'Where are we?' he asked, as they tailed Minerva up a winding garden path.

'Godric's Hollow, in the West Country,' Albus answered with a sad smile. 'This was your parents' home.'

 _His parents' home… his home_.

Harry drank in the little cottage with keen interest, as though he would only ever have this one chance to see it. The front gardens were abloom with various flowers and plants – mostly Muggle, though Harry recognised a Flutterby bush by the door to the cottage. His mother must have been keen on roses, for several varieties in a rainbow of colours lined the path and the edges of the front hedge. The house itself was brick and homely and perfectly ordinary, with a high pointed roof and many-paned windows. The sides of the cottage were covered in ivy that had creeped nearly to the first floor, and Harry could see the sitting room through a bay window at the front in which a ginger cat bathed in the sunshine.

Then Minerva tapped a phoenix-shaped knocker on the white-washed door, and Harry found himself holding his breath in anticipation.

A man answered the call almost at once. He was tall, though not nearly so tall as the headmaster, with a slender build that still hinted at muscle. His black hair was untidy and mussed, just as Harry's always seemed to be. He wore spectacles over hazel eyes, and a tired smile. His face was young – much younger than Harry could have thought possible, even though he'd stared at it nearly every night for over a year in photographs. Harry might not have thought him out of place in a seventh form lesson at Hogwarts.

'James,' Minerva said fondly, stepping up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. 'Congratulations.'

'Hello, Minerva,' he greeted her, putting an arm around her back in embrace. 'And thank you. Won't you come in?'

He stepped back to allow her into the house, and Harry and Albus hurried over the threshold in turn. James Potter passed within millimetres of Harry's shoulder as he made to shut the door behind them. Though Harry knew it was a memory… though he knew his father could not feel his presence… he still felt goose pimples rise on his arm.

James was very gentle in closing the door and Minerva – taking the cue – kept equally silent.

'Is this a bad time?' she asked in a solicitous whisper, as James gestured her into the sitting room. 'I can always come back in the evening.'

'Not at all,' James assured her, swinging a door to close out any noise to the front hall. 'He never sleeps more than a few hours at a clip anyway, and we're coming on three. I just don't want to wake Lily before I have to – she's been exhausted.'

'I'm sure,' Minerva said in sympathy. She wandered over to stroke the cat, perching on the bay window seat. The animal purred contentedly beneath her touch as she clucked her tongue at him. James watched the exchange with an amused smirk.

'Would you like some tea?' he asked her innocently. 'Or should I bring out a saucer and cream for you and Darby to share?'

'Enough of that cheek,' Minerva reprimanded in a hiss, 'Or I shall hex you into a mouse and Darby and I shall share _you._ '

The effect of the threat was slightly ruined by the smile in her eyes. Harry, who had been focused mostly on his father's handsome face, was struck suddenly by the change in Minerva's. It was not nearly so lined, and the square spectacles Harry had always seen the professor wear were absent now. Her eyes – without the glass in front of them – were actually a striking shade of green Harry hadn't really noticed before. They were not the deep emerald of his own or his mother's, but warm and light – like springtime grass. She looked _much_ younger than Harry had ever known her.

'She's beautiful,' Harry said softly, with a glance at the headmaster. 'She looks so young – I never realised before.'

The headmaster smiled. 'Minerva was only about forty-five or so,' he acknowledged with a nod. 'But she has always been wise beyond her years.'

At that moment, the little scene was interrupted by a baby's high-pitched cry. James, who was just returning with tea through a door Harry assumed led to the kitchen, tensed at once.

'I told you,' he said, with a sigh. He set the cups down on a low table, as Minerva got to her feet.

'Shall I wait here?' she asked uncertainly.

'Of course not,' James said, smiling at her. 'Come and meet him. Lily would love to see you as well.'

He led Minerva back through the swinging door to the hall, and Harry and Dumbledore followed. They made their way up a narrow stairwell. Harry saw pictures lining the climb – scenes from his parents' childhood and courtship: James and Lily laughing on the Hogwarts grounds; a very young Lily and a sour looking child Harry thought might be his Aunt Petunia, making shapes in the sand at a beach; a young black-haired boy that looked very like himself, standing proudly with a broomstick wearing the Gryffindor colours. There were other photos that Harry recognised from his own collection – his parents' wedding, the two of them with Dumbledore on the day they'd left Hogwarts. At any other moment, Harry would have dearly loved to stop and study each one… but his mother was at the top of these stairs, and he was too eager to see her for more than a cursory examination.

'James?' a soft, tired voice echoed from down the corridor as they alighted at the top of the stairwell, 'Can you bring him to me?'

Harry froze. She sounded so different from the only other time he'd heard her – when she'd been pleading with Voldemort in her final moments. Her voice was like chimes on the wind; and even through her exhaustion, Harry thought he had never heard a lovelier sound.

'Go on in,' James said, nodding Minerva toward a door at the end of the corridor. 'I'll get the baby first.'

Minerva gave a small smile, sweeping toward the indicated door. And Harry followed, his heart pounding in his chest as she made to enter the room.

Lily Potter was more beautiful than any woman Harry had ever seen. Photographs, the Mirror of Erised… they had not done her justice. She was sitting up in bed when they entered, propped up on a mound of pillows under a thick gold duvet. It was hard to tell from this angle, but Harry thought she would be around McGonagall's height if she stood. Her dark red hair was loose, falling in soft waves around her shoulders. She was paler than the photographs Harry had seen – but perhaps that was just recent childbirth. The effect did not take away from her beauty in the slightest; on the contrary, it only enhanced the brilliance of her dark green eyes, and the glowing flush on her cheeks.

'Minerva!' Lily exclaimed, smiling as the professor entered the room. 'I didn't know you were coming today!'

'You look well, Lily darling,' Minerva greeted her, descending on the bed and kissing both her cheeks. 'Motherhood does seem to suit you.'

'You're a dear,' Lily said with a smile. 'I'm so glad you've come. Have you seen him yet?'

Minerva shook her head. 'I've only just arrived,' she told her. 'And you were both asleep.'

At that moment, James came through the open door, a tiny bundle in his arms. Harry realised the bundle was _himself_ , tiny and pink, with a shock of untidy hair. James was cradling Baby Harry expertly, one arm supporting the infant while the other held a bottle for the baby to suckle. It was a very odd experience – to see himself as a days old infant – but Harry was far more focused on James and Lily's tender expressions than his own appearance.

'Oh Lily, he's precious,' Minerva breathed, rushing over to peek at the baby's face. 'Just beautiful – and he has your eyes; how wonderful.'

'So we've heard,' said James, with a mock grumble. 'I ask you – what's so wrong with _my_ eyes, then?'

'Everything else will be you,' Minerva pointed out, trailing a finger down the baby's cheek. 'You can tell already. It's nice to see both parents represented.'

'Let her hold him, James,' Lily called softly from the bed.

James adjusted his hold on the baby, shifting him gently into Minerva's arms. Minerva took the bottle easily, rocking the child softly as she began to feed him.

'He's so tiny,' she said in awe, bouncing the baby a bit.

'I know,' James said with a grin. 'And Lily was huge at the end… I thought he'd be Hagrid's size when he finally came ou– _ouch_!'

He jumped a little, rubbing his bum, as Lily slipped her wand covertly back under her blankets on the bed with a wicked grin. James turned an accusatory scowl on her that faded abruptly to a frown of concern as he spied the wand disappearing.

'Lils,' James cautioned, 'The healers said a week. It's only been three days.'

'I'm fine, James,' she assured him. 'I'm not leaving the bed, am I?'

'You're supposed to be on _magical_ rest,' he reminded her. He held out his hand. 'Give it here.'

'No,' Lily said, splaying her arms protectively over the bedclothes.

'Lily…'

Minerva poked her head up from her gushing over the baby, watching the exchange with amusement.

'What's this?' she asked.

James answered at once, clearly hoping for an ally. 'Lily is _supposed_ to be in bed on magical rest until Thursday,' he told her, sounding exactly like a Gryffindor student snitching on a classmate to his Head of House. 'She's finding it a bit difficult, it seems. Though _how_ she managed to find her wand _without_ leaving the bed is beyond me.'

'Remus got it for me,' she said with another half-smile. 'He likes me better than you, you know.'

'Which is why I didn't tell him where I'd hidden it,' James retorted.

Lily laughed. 'That bit I'd worked out for myself,' she said.

'The back of the broom cupboard?' Minerva guessed. James looked astounded, while Lily merely laughed again.

'Really, James, cunning concealment has never been a particular talent of yours; you're a much more direct sort of man.'

'Remind me to hex Remus the next time he pops by,' James muttered darkly. 'And give it back, Lils, unless you want to spend another week stuck in here.'

Lily's eyes were dancing now. 'Come and get it,' she challenged instead.

With a mock growl, James pounced onto the bed, holding himself over Harry's mother in a stance like a pouncing tiger and sending Lily into a fit of giggles again as she squirmed, trying to keep the wand's location covered. He kissed his way down her neck, increasing her squirming as she scrabbled his chest with her fingers, trying to push him away. He managed to pin her wrists with one of his hands, running the other snakelike down her side and under the duvet. Harry felt his face grow red with embarrassment watching the interaction, though at the same time his heart was singing.

'I win,' James said in triumph, waving the wand in front of her nose as he finally emerged from the sheets. Lily gave a dramatic pout, but she did not look truly fussed over her defeat. James leaned down carefully, and kissed her once on the tip of the nose before releasing her wrists and pushing himself off the bed again.

Minerva raised her eyebrows at him. James merely shrugged. 'She's not supposed to exert herself,' he told her, throwing the wand carelessly so it spun through the air and catching it with the opposite arm behind his back. 'No walking about, no spellwork, no taxing her magical core until Lance says she's healed enough.'

'Quite a list of restrictions,' Minerva remarked dryly. 'I wonder whether thrashing about like a pair of kneazles in heat is on the list of healer-approved activity?'

Lily blushed a bit, but James gave the professor a wholly-unconvincing wide-eyed look of innocence. Harry wondered whether that had _ever_ worked on McGonagall when his father had been at school… because it _certainly_ would not have worked for Harry.

'She's supposed to stay in bed,' James pointed out. 'Thrashing about is a bed activity.'

'And Harry?' Minerva asked, gesturing with her head to the infant in her arms. 'What a sight for a baby to witness.'

'Harry doesn't mind,' James said with a wicked smirk. 'That's how he got here in the first place.'

' _James_!' Lily hissed in horror, flapping a hand at him to quiet his vulgarity.

Harry was very glad of it, because he _definitely_ felt hot around the ears now.

Minerva gave a snort that was half-amusement, half-disapproval, turning her attention back to the baby again.

'I'll set you an example, darling,' she cooed to him. 'Even if your parents can't stop acting like teenagers.'

'Oi!' James protested. 'Don't poison him against me.'

Lily laughed again. Harry thought he would never get enough of the sound. But the scene began to whiten around him, Lily's laughter fading into the mist, and he and Dumbledore were pulled up and out of the bedroom, back to the headmaster's study.

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Harry landed squarely on his feet, though it took him a few moments for his mind to catch up to the return of his body. He shook his head slightly. He could still hear his mother's laugher.

'What did you think?' Albus asked, fixing him with a knowing smile.

'They were… happy,' Harry offered lamely, reddening a bit as he recalled the scene.

Albus chuckled. 'Indeed they were,' he agreed with a smile. 'Never more so than after you were born.'

'My father – he was funny. And taller than I expected,' Harry said. 'And… she was beautiful,' he added quietly. 'My mum. I never really knew before… it's so different to see her alive and talking and everything.'

'She was a lovely woman,' Albus nodded softly. 'And your father was a kind and gifted man. There is much in you of both of them. The best of both of them, if I can say so without bias.'

Harry felt himself go slightly pink again.

'Can I see another?' he asked tentatively. Dumbledore smiled, gesturing toward the box.

Harry selected another phial, watching keenly as the headmaster poured it out.

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The cottage was lit with a thousand fairy lights, draped around a massive tree that took up half the sitting room and shining in the snow-edged windows. His parents weren't in the room and, for a moment, Harry thought he and the headmaster were quite alone. Then, from the other side of the tree, Harry heard an indignant yowl, followed quickly by a baby's happy gurgle.

'Harry,' a voice admonished.

Harry turned in confusion, but Dumbledore was smiling at him, shaking his head. He gestured that Harry should walk further into the room. Frowning, Harry made his way around the tree… and understood.

The headmaster was smiling beside him, and the headmaster was _also_ seated on a low ottoman, watching over a black-haired baby who could only be himself. He was older this time, and he could sit up on his own. He had on a fuzzy green baby jumper, with a golden image of a stag's head embroidered on the front. The headmaster looked much the same as ever, though his face was a little less lined and his hair still showed some very fine streaks of the auburn colour it had been in memory Harry had seen the previous year in Tom Riddle's diary. He was wearing magnificent robes of sweeping red and gold.

'You look almost like Father Christmas,' Harry commented, with an impertinent grin for the present-day Dumbledore.

The headmaster chuckled, but merely nodded his head for Harry to keep watching.

The ginger cat from the previous memory emerged from under the skirt of the sofa, a very mistrustful expression on his face as he surveyed the baby Harry. Baby Harry waived his tiny fists at the cat's appearance, trying valiantly to scoot himself closer, though only succeeding in swaying ominously from side to side. The cat twitched its ears, darting under the cover of the skirt again, and the baby's bottom lip started to tremble.

'Darby doesn't like it when you pull his tail, Harry,' the younger Dumbledore informed him gently. Baby Harry turned at the sound of the voice, cocking his head and stuffing the fingers of one hand in his mouth. He didn't seem to understand the words, and his eyebrows were constricting in frustration.

Quite suddenly, the cat zoomed out from under the sofa, looking disgruntled and resigned as he ploughed into the tiny child, knocking him over. Baby Harry giggled, taking the very wet hand from his mouth and trying valiantly to put both arms around the animal as he lay on his back.

Thirteen-year-old Harry stared.

'Was that –'

'Accidental magic,' the headmaster agreed, his eyes twinkling. 'You showed it quite early, I must admit. This particular summoning action was one of your favourites, much to poor Darby's displeasure.'

The Dumbledore in the past smiled indulgently, even while he leaned down to rescue the unfortunate cat. The baby did not appreciate his freeing the animal, and promptly dissolved into a fit of tears.

'Oh now, that's enough of that,' Dumbledore said, smiling as he lifted the child from the floor and set him upon his knee. 'Do you want to play with the smoke again?'

The baby stopped crying as he was held, staring through huge, wet eyes into Dumbledore's face. He moved the hand toward his mouth again, but the headmaster caught it up, spelling it free of drool and cat hair before he could suckle on the dirt. Harry stared at the clean hand in surprise, and promptly stuffed it into Dumbledore's flowing beard instead. Albus sighed resignedly, turning the infant so he was propped more comfortably against his chest.

He pulled out his wand, and began to send colourful rings of smoke from the end. The baby let out a high pitched giggle, waving his fists as the rings rose slowly above them.

'I shall be forever jealous of a mind so easily contented,' Albus said softly, bouncing his knee a little as he sent another ring from his wand for the child's amusement. Baby Harry let out another peal of laughter, yanking on poor Dumbledore's beard in his enthusiasm.

'Sorry, sir,' the present day Harry mumbled.

Albus laughed deeply. 'My dear child, if this was all it took to send you into wild happiness today, I would gladly sacrifice all twenty-eight inches of my beard to accomplish it.'

'I wonder,' the headmaster of the past mused, looking thoughtfully down at the tuft of black hair.

Instead of smoke this time, Albus sent forth a brilliant silver light. The light transformed slowly, solidifying into a beautiful phoenix patronus. The baby on his knee stopped his laughter, his eyes going wide as the phoenix's light was reflected in them.

'Oooo,' he gurgled. He released the headmaster's hair at last as he leaned forward toward the phoenix, reaching out both hands as though to touch it. The headmaster adjusted his grip quickly to keep the child from falling to the floor, but directed the phoenix with his other hand. The bird glided closer, hovering above the baby's head. Harry tried valiantly to swipe at it. His tiny hand only flew through the patronus' light.

'Hello, Harry,' the phoenix spoke, in Dumbledore's deep voice. The baby dropped his arms again, leaning into Dumbledore's chest as he considered the strange creature.

'How did you make it do _that_?' Harry asked, looking at his own version of Dumbledore with eyes almost as wide. 'I didn't know patronuses could actually talk.'

Dumbledore inclined his head. 'That is how they might be used to relay messages,' he informed Harry. 'I shall teach you the charm once you have mastered the conjuring with Remus. I am rather fond of it, as it is one of my own invention.'

'Albus?' a woman's voice called from the front hall. Both Harrys turned at once toward the voice, anticipating Lily's arrival. The silver phoenix faded slowly from view.

'I'm so sorry we were gone so long; the queue at the bakery was mad,' Lily said, coming into view around the massive Christmas tree. She was pink in the cheeks from her time in the cold, and busily shedding a thick, fur-lined travelling cloak. She, like Dumbledore, was wearing fancy dress robes beneath for the festive occasion, hers in a glittering deep green. 'James will be along in a moment; he's just chatting with Bathilda.'

Baby Harry was impatient at the lack of attention, kicking his legs against Albus' knee as he reached insistently for his mother. She rushed over with a smile as she cast the cloak aside.

'Hello darling,' she greeted him, sweeping him up with a practised ease and nuzzling his nose. 'Mummy's missed you.' The baby gave an excited squeal, gripping the neck of her robes as he buried his head beneath her chin.

'Batty will be along around four,' James' voice called, as he too sidled through the door, laden down with packages and slightly breathless. 'She said to pass along her best, Albus, if you're sure you can't stay to tea.'

'I told you not to call her that, James!' Lily admonished, adjusting Harry on her hip as she shot a glare at her husband. 'It's horridly disrespectful.'

'Hello love,' James said, rebalancing his shopping to give Harry a kiss on the forehead. 'And don't scold, Lily, she likes it.'

Lily rolled her eyes as James lugged the many packages into the kitchen, but both incarnations of Dumbledore chuckled.

'She does,' the present-day Dumbledore admitted in Harry's ear. Harry, who had no idea who it was they were all on about, could only frown his confusion.

'Thank you so much for taking him all morning,' Lily said to Dumbledore, as the latter rose from his ottoman. 'I don't know what we would have done – with the boys working until supper and the Longbottoms out of town.'

'It was not a problem at all,' Dumbledore assured her with a smile. 'We get on very well, don't we child?' He ran a fond hand over the top of Baby Harry's head. The child giggled again.

'I must say, it makes a wonderful change to have children about for the holiday.'

'What are you on about, Albus?' said James with a laugh, stepping back through into the sitting room and tugging Harry from Lily's grasp. He blew a raspberry on the baby's stomach as he swung him through the air, sending the child into a peal of laughter again. 'You have hundreds of children _every_ Christmas.'

'Not in the same sense,' said the headmaster, smiling at Baby Harry again. 'And there are fewer every year. Parents do not want to be separated from their children at the holidays – not now. And I quite understand the sentiment.'

The merriment of the room seemed to fade for a moment, as Harry's parents exchanged a tense look. James clutched the baby a bit tighter.

'Well, Harry loves you all the same, don't you buddy?' he said, bouncing the child on his hip. 'And you know you're always welcome here, Albus. Anytime. You're sure you can't stay to dinner? Batty and Remus will be coming – they have the evening off tonight.'

'I'm afraid not,' Albus said with a sigh. 'I am needed at the castle. But it really has been an enjoyable morning, and I will try to stop in again over the holiday season.'

He reached over again to tickle the baby's stomach.

'Goodbye, little one,' he said gently. 'I shall see you soon.'

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'Who's Batty?' asked Harry curiously, as he and Albus alighted again on the office floor. It took him less time than the previous trip to regain his equilibrium. Harry supposed that it was something one got used to with practise.

Albus smiled. 'A dear friend,' he said. 'And a neighbour of your parents, at the time. Her true name is Bathilda Bagshot. She was quite fond of you, and came by to look in on your family many times while you were living in Godric's Hollow.'

'Bathilda Bagshot,' Harry repeated, frowning. The headmaster's eyes twinkled.

'I think I know the name,' Harry said. 'It's… familiar, somehow.'

'It ought to be,' Albus said, the twinkle increasing. 'As it is embossed on the cover of one of your textbooks. Alas, I suspect _not_ the textbook you have perused with the utmost care.'

Harry felt himself blushing again. 'Er…'

'She is the author of _A History of Magic_ ,' Dumbledore supplied helpfully. 'A most gifted magical historian, and a close friend of mine since my own childhood.'

Harry raised an eyebrow in surprise. 'She must be…'

'Quite old?' the headmaster suggested, chuckling a bit.

'Er – I was going to say a talented witch,' Harry lied quickly.

'I am sure you were,' said Albus, still twinkling madly. He stole a glance at his wristwatch. 'That particular recollection was a little longer than I anticipated,' he said. 'It is already quite late.'

'Please, just one more,' Harry needled. Albus hesitated.

'Very well,' he allowed. 'But just the one. Minerva will have my head if you are up past midnight – birthday or not.'

Harry hurried to choose the final phial, passing it to Dumbledore again and storing the two they had already viewed carefully back in the velvet.

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This time, he knew at once whose memory he was in. Remus was standing at the doorway of the nursery, looking very familiar but for the lack of grey in his hair. He was staring at the young Harry with one eyebrow raised.

Baby Harry was older again. He could stand – or, at least, he could balance while holding the bars of his cot. And he was staring back at Remus just as resolutely, sniffling a bit. The room was in near darkness save for the glow of a single candle on the table by the door. Even the night outside seemed to be moonless.

'Dada,' the baby said.

Remus sighed. 'I'm sorry, love, your mum and dad have gone out for a bit. Don't you want to go night-night?'

'Mama,' the baby whinged a little more insistently, bouncing his knees as he grew agitated.

Remus ran a hand through his hair. 'Why tonight?' he muttered, seemingly to himself. 'Okay… night-night, Harry,' he said in a sing-song voice, backing slowly out of the room. He had barely swung the door before the baby let out an almighty wail, throwing himself onto the mattress and stamping his tiny feet in utter misery.

Remus threw the door back open at once, striding into the room like the world might be ending. Harry stopped his wobbly when Remus' face came back into view, sniffling through a runny nose as he reached up for him.

Remus sighed again, rubbing the baby's tummy but not picking him up. 'I'm not supposed to,' he said apologetically, to the clearly oblivious child. 'Lily says you'll never learn to soothe yourself to sleep if we keep picking you back up.'

'Mama,' the baby said tearfully again.

'I'm sorry, sweetheart,' Remus said, looking equally as miserable. 'Why don't you cuddle with the bear?' He offered a soft toy to the emotional baby. Harry pressed it to his chest, still fixing Remus with a pitiful stare. Remus pulled a woven blanket up over both Harry and the cuddly toy, rubbing his back in soft circles. Slowly, Harry's eyes began to close, though he continued to sniffle pathetically.

When the baby's eyes had stayed shut for a good two minutes, Remus slowed his circles. At last, he gingerly pulled his hand back from the blanket, tiptoeing back across the room toward the door. He had no sooner put his hand on the knob, however, when the child awoke again.

'DADA!' he screamed, dissolving into tears again. Remus jumped so badly he smacked his head against the doorframe, letting loose a hissed oath that momentarily surprised the baby out of his hysterics, then only redoubled the wailing.

Harry grimaced at the headmaster, wondering why he was seeing _this_ particular scene.

'Oh love, I'm sorry,' Remus apologised, hurrying for the cot again. 'I didn't mean it. I'm not cross at you, darling.'

Ignoring whatever instruction he might have received, Remus leaned over the bars and scooped the small child up, rocking him gently against his chest.

'Shush, it's alright,' he hushed, bouncing Harry to calm his tears. The child slowly hiccupped himself into quiet, clinging to Remus' robes with one tiny fist. 'There now,' Remus said as the baby calmed down, brushing at his reddened cheeks to wipe away the moisture. 'That's better, isn't it?'

Harry still looked miserable, and Remus frowned with his knuckles on his cheek. He moved the hand up to the baby's head, the frown deepening.

'You're very warm, darling. Are you feeling poorly?' he asked. The baby only continued to stare up at him through his tears. Remus looked a bit nervous.

'Come on, let's go down then,' he said, adjusting Harry so he was seated more securely on his hip. The baby leaned his head in the hollow of Remus' neck, still sniffling in the wake of his wobbly.

Harry and Dumbledore followed the pair down into the little kitchen. It was changed since the last memory – a high child's chair had been fitted into one side of the table, and a plethora of baby toys lay in a basket in the corner. Remus tried to seat Harry into the plastic contraption, but the child immediately began to shriek again as he attempted to set him down, clinging to Remus' robes like a lifeline.

'Alright, alright,' Remus soothed, taking Harry up again and patting him on the back. He continued the rhythmic patting as he started to open various kitchen cupboards, the vibrations working a pattern into Harry's continued sobs.

'Where do they keep the potions?' Remus hissed, apparently to himself, as he continued to rummage in the kitchen stores. He looked over his chin at the top of Harry's head, frowning again. 'Can you even have potion?' he asked him doubtfully. Harry nuzzled his neck again, wiping a snotty nose on his collar.

'Right,' Remus said with another sigh. 'Hot chocolate then? That always seems to help when I'm in a temper.'

He fumbled to juggle Harry and retrieve his wand from a pocket, swirling it at the ice box to summon milk and another cabinet for cocoa. In a few moments, he had a kettle whirring on the hob, and siphoned two measures of hot chocolate into a mug and a baby's bottle. He hovered both over to the table, seating himself in the end chair and positioning the tiny Harry in his lap.

'Do you like chocolate?' Remus asked, positioning the bottle for Harry to drink. Harry sipped at it doubtfully for a moment, then took the bottle easily from Remus' hand. Remus let out a breath of relief as the baby quieted with the treat, and older Harry too relished the return of the blissful silence.

The baby's eyes were drooping again as the bottle reached half-full. Remus rescued it from Harry's slackened grip, wiping a bit of the residue from Harry's chin. He rocked the child gently, apparently attempting to lull him into slumber again.

A sudden whoosh from the room next door stopped Remus' sway, and prompted Harry to wakefulness once more.

'Mama?' Harry said again, looking up into Remus' face.

'Do I hear a devilish little blighter who's up past his bedtime?' a menacing voice growled from beyond the door.

Harry gave a squeal of delight, all signs of exhaustion gone. 'Dada!' he called in joy, nearly toppling the bottle from the table as he started to thrash in Remus' grip.

James Potter pushed through the swinging door, winging Harry up from Remus' lap and tossing him high into the air. The baby squealed with glee, holding his arms wide as James caught him again, and nuzzling into his neck.

'I tried the self-soothing thing,' Remus said, looking lost as James nuzzled Harry back. 'But honestly – I don't know how you do it.'

'I don't,' James admitted with a wink. 'It was Lily's idea. She says it's supposed to be better for the baby in the end, to help them begin to put themselves back to sleep and learn that –'

'That someone won't come running every time he cries or carries on,' said Lily sternly, sidling through the door behind him and looking cross.

Harry noticed that – quite unlike Christmas – neither she nor his father were at all dressed for a party tonight. The revelation surprised him, as he had figured Remus' presence meant his parents were having some sort of date-night for themselves. On the contrary, both Lily and James Potter looked as though they were dressed for battle. Their robes were deepest black and cut for ease of quick movement, not unlike his own quidditch attire. Lily had her long red hair pinned back tightly, and James' face was looking decidedly bruised on one side.

'I'm an only child,' James said with a careless shrug. 'Someone always _did_ come running when I carried on. Isn't that right, love?' he added in a higher voice, bouncing Harry a little.

'Well, Harry might not be,' Lily pointed out. 'And you're only going to spoil him if you keep it up.'

'A bit of spoiling never ruined anyone,' James retorted, giving Lily puppy eyes over the top of Harry's head. 'Just look how wonderfully I turned out.'

Lily scoffed. 'That's what Petunia says,' she told him with an innocent smile. 'Perhaps Harry will get on well with his little cousin after all.'

James stopped rocking Harry at once, looking horrified. He passed the baby to her with dramatic abruptness.

'You're quite right, love,' he said seriously, as Lily kissed her son in welcome. 'Let's never go in his room again.'

'I think he's running a temperature,' said Remus, rising from the table and interrupting the banter. 'That's why I brought him down tonight.'

James dropped the playful act at once, looking deeply concerned. Lily put a pale hand on Harry's forehead.

'What's wrong, darling?' she crooned in his ear. 'Have you got a sniffle?'

'I'll call for a healer,' James said immediately, already pushing the door to the sitting room ajar.

'Oh Jamie, there's no need for that,' Lily said. 'He's not that warm; it's probably just teething. He's due about now.'

'Are you sure?' James asked, still frowning at the baby like he might break out in pox any moment.

'Yes,' Lily said, kissing the top of Harry's head. 'We'll have a spot of potion and then a nice lie-down, isn't that right pumpkin?'

'I wasn't sure whether I could give him anything,' Remus admitted, looking a tad chagrined. 'He's so little… I didn't know whether our potions were safe for him. So I made some hot chocolate instead.'

'Mother Nature's best cure,' James agreed with a laugh, reaching into a high cabinet and retrieving a few brightly coloured phials. He nodded at the cabinet door. 'That's where the child versions are, for future. They're all labelled, so even you aren't likely to bungle it.'

'Thanks,' Remus said sarcastically, catching two phials one after another as James tossed them through the air. Lily took them from his grasp, dropping a bit of each into the half-full bottle of chocolate.

'How did it go tonight?' he asked, as Lily coaxed the sleepy Harry into taking the medicated bottle and James sank tiredly into another chair.

'Not bad,' James said, relaxing into the seat. 'Bit of a rumble, but no casualties from our side.'

'Good,' said Remus, looking grim. 'We can't afford anything else right now.'

'I'd have much rather been here,' James admitted, leaning across his wife to run a finger over Harry's cheek. 'Was he much trouble for you?'

'He's never much trouble,' Remus said with an indulgent smile. 'At least, not until bedtime.'

Harry looked between them with half-mast green eyes, almost as if he knew he was the topic of discussion. James bent his face low so it was on a level with the baby's, looking very seriously into his face.

'Now you listen to me, young man,' he said sternly. 'You must promise me to _always_ cause your Uncle Remus a bit of trouble, you hear me? Otherwise, he forgets what it's like to have fun.'

Harry gave a three-toothed grin around the teat, and all three of the adults laughed.

And the scene dissolved again into a sea of white, pulling Harry from the happy kitchen.

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'I think that is enough for tonight,' Albus said, as they emerged from the final memory at last. He took in this older Harry's eyes, which were nearly as heavy as the much younger version's had been. 'It is high time we both went up.'

To his surprise, Harry flung his arms around his middle again. Albus hugged him back tightly.

'Thank you,' Harry said thickly, still holding the embrace. 'That was… it was just wonderful. All of it. This has been the best birthday I've ever had.'

'You are quite welcome, my dear child,' Albus said softly, smoothing the top of his head. They broke apart at last and, with a small smile, Harry hurried up the stairs.

'And may you have many, _many_ more,' Albus whispered quietly, as he flicked his wrist to dim the lights.

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Deep in the Forbidden Forest, Sirius' sleep was far less sanguine. He tossed and turned against the dried leaves of the makeshift shelter, caught in the tumult of nightmare once more.

 _It was New Year again… a whole year since that horrible night when he'd thought he'd lost James forever; since Sean had been taken from them. And, like a twisted reincarnation, Sirius was once again staggering bloodstained from a battlefield, his heart heavy with loss and disillusionment._

 _He couldn't face the empty flat… He couldn't be there tonight, with his bed still smelling like her. With her hair still clinging to the pillow. With her half-drunk cup of tea with that coral lipstick stain, just a bit off centre._

 _Numb and desperate, he apparated to the only other place he could go – the only people he ever cared to see again._

 _Lily was waiting at the door, her own face grave and understanding and Harry sleeping in her arms. She stepped aside without a word to let him in, and they walked together to the kitchen table. The little room still bore signs of the New Year meal she and James had been sharing with Harry when he'd been called away._

 _James – who was doing what Sirius could not. Who was telling her parents they were childless._

 _He sank into the end chair, barely aware of his own actions. Lily took the seat next to him. She waited in silence for him to speak first. Sirius knew she had already heard the news; knew Dumbledore would have told her what happened tonight. But he needed to say it aloud all the same._

 _'Marley's dead,' Sirius said blankly. He felt empty; hollow. He wasn't even sure if he was sad, or if he even had the energy for grief. Perhaps, he was just in shock._

 _Mostly, he was just tired._

 _'I know,' Lily said quietly. She put a hand on his arm, shifting Harry so she could reach him. 'I'm so sorry, Sirius.' Her own eyes were brimming with tears._

 _Sirius shrugged helplessly. 'It's not like I had a claim over her,' he said tonelessly. 'Just because we were shagging?'_

 _'Oh Sirius, that's not what it was, and you know it,' Lily said softly. She brushed a stray tear from her cheek before it could fall onto Harry's head._

 _'Did you love her?' she asked, looking at him closely._

 _Sirius ran a hand through his hair. He wanted desperately to slam it against the table – but he didn't want to wake the baby._

 _'I don't know, Lils,' he said at last. 'Sometimes I feel like I don't know anything anymore.'_

 _She squeezed his arm sympathetically and whipped out her wand, summoning over a bottle of Firewhisky and two glasses. Sirius raised an eyebrow._

 _'I thought you weren't partaking, while you're still feeding the baby?' he said, his voice_ almost _jesting; if joking was something he thought he'd ever be capable of again. Lily gave him a faint smile._

 _'I'm sure one drink won't hurt him any,' she said. 'Alice says she never bothered with all that tosh after the baby was actually born.'_

 _She poured two healthy measures of the whisky – the Muggle way, rather than with her wand. Sirius knew she was taking the extra effort as a sign of respect for Marlene's memory. She slid one across the table to him, and raised her own._

 _'To Marley,' she said._

 _'Marley,' Sirius whispered in agreement. He knocked back the drink in one go, and pushed the glass aside. Lily sat with him in silence – and he was grateful._

 _'You know, sometimes,' he said, 'I don't even know why we do this. What's the point of all this bloodshed? What's the point of this sodding war? So much pointless death. So many ruined families. Sometimes, it seems just a waste of dozens of lives. Sometimes,' he admitted, very quietly, 'I forget what we're even fighting for.'_

 _Without replying, Lily stood. Gently, she reached over the table and tucked Harry into Sirius' arms. The baby gave a small sigh as he was shifted, registering in his sleep the change of environment. He nuzzled his little head into Sirius' chest. At five months, he'd grown much sturdier. His warm weight was a comfort to Sirius' aching heart._

 _'We do it for them, Sirius,' Lily said quietly, pulling her chair closer to reseat herself and resting her head on his shoulder as they watched the baby sleep. 'We do it for Harry – and for all the other children out there. So that they do not have to grow up in the world that we did; so that they do not have to face prejudice, and horror, and the bloodstained reality of war. So that nobody might steal their innocence, and tear their loved ones away. We fight for him. We fight for them. We fight to give them a future.'_

Sirius jolted awake, sweaty and shaking again in the wake of the memory. He could almost feel Lily's head on his shoulder, as if her love, and Marley's, and James', was guiding him even now, a dozen years later, in this dirty little hovel where he'd hidden himself away.

For Harry. He would do this – for Harry.

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 **Chapter 16 Review Responses:**

 **BlueWater5** : Thank you for reviewing! I am glad you liked the memory gift – I hope you enjoy where those take Harry (and us).

 **Shadowhunter** : Thank you for your review, and congratulations on finishing your studies! You must be American, because for me it's really been two in back to back days… but I'm glad I could oblige with fast updating this time! : ) Apologies for the tearful ending; it seemed the only way to adequately close on a dramatic few chapters. But I'm glad you like the idea of the memories – I'm looking forward to exploring them along with Harry. And, hopefully, these do give him a way to be close to his parents and hear their voices without jeopardising his health in the process.

As to your query… I've been thinking on it ever since the start of this series; how to go about exploring the 'romantic' side of things for Harry. JKR gave an interview around the time of POA's release where she was asked about Harry's love life (or lack thereof). She said at the time that because of the events in Harry's life, he's a little more mature than other wizards his age in some of the darker aspects of life, whereas in other areas – like witches – he's woefully behind the pace… but that we would see that aspect come more into play in future. My Harry here is quite similar to canon in that respect; he hasn't really thought of interest in girls yet… or, at least, not much about it. There are a _few_ moments of what _might_ be tension with Hermione in Part I, but nothing at all definitive. And, certainly, he's oblivious in large part as to what sort of relationship Albus/Minerva have, and is instead thrown when he sees them sitting close together, or exchanging a kiss on the cheek, or in their dressing gowns in the headmaster's quarters… I think in part that is because they haven't felt comfortable revealing their connection; and in part it is that Harry is a bit too innocent to see the obvious. That obliviousness won't last much longer. As to who might have the 'Talk' with Harry… I can't give that away, I'm afraid, but I promise you will not be disappointed. Though I must say, I rather like your Aberforth impression…

Runic magic has always fascinated me, as it is hinted at in canon but really a largely-unexplored realm. It's association with warding, as well as most of the explanation that Dumbledore provides in Chapter 16, is therefore mainly of my own imagination (and could just as easily be entirely incorrect). But, certainly, Ancient Runes have an association with Dumbledore, and Grindelwald… and (in DH) with the Tales of Beedle the Bard. Both runic magic and wandless casting will most certainly have important roles to play in the continuation of the story.

 **Baelkaz** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm really glad you liked the flashback sequences so much – they were a lot of fun to write. It was strange how it came about, actually, because I hadn't originally intended to go there… but I literally woke up one morning last week and it was all just in my head, as though it just always _had_ happened that way. So I figured, why not? In any case, happy you are enjoying the story and please keep reading and reviewing!

 **AECM** : I'm glad you enjoyed Chapter 16, and thanks for reviewing! Harry will definitely study ancient runes with the headmaster but, for right now, is still enrolled to take divination as well… much to Minerva's displeasure. But, as Albus told her in the previous book, he believes it important that they let Harry make his own decisions about which subjects he'd like to study – and nobody else from their form has teachers stepping in to alter their timetables because they disapprove. Does that mean that Harry's off the hook, though? Not a chance! It'll be interesting to see how the memories affect Harry – in his patronus abilities and elsewhere… I hope you enjoy it!

 **LordTicky** : Glad you liked the bit with Harry's naming! Thank you again for reviewing and I hope you liked this chapter!

 **Guest** : Thank you for your review and support! I hope you continue to enjoy the story – though this update is a bit longer in coming than the rapid-fire of the week-end.

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm really glad you're enjoying the story. I will say, I debated over whether to have Severus in attendance at the little gathering… but it just didn't feel quite right. I don't think he's yet at a place where he would _want_ to be there (nor is Harry, really); but, mostly, I think he's still cross with Dumbledore and vice versa. Severus's journey is one of the most interesting to write, and I hope one of the more interesting to read. Enjoy the continuation!


	18. Of Scarlet and Gold

**A/N:** Hello at last darlings! I do apologise (again) for the delay on this chapter, but I promise my neglect was not deliberate. Unfortunately, my unceasing battle with morning sickness has been keeping me largely out of commission for a few weeks, culminating in learning this past week after an extremely frightening day that I actually have been suffering a condition called hyperemesis gravidarum. It is _not_ a lot of fun, but my physician tells me that though it is rare it is more common in women who are having multiples _and_ in the first pregnancy… and luckily there is a good chance that the worst of it will abate when I am a few weeks farther along. It might be a long few weeks, however; so please bear with me.

In more uplifting news, James and I did tell our respective families and a few of our close friends this past week-end, which was quite exciting. My mum was near to impossible to shake for two straight days… and his was even worse! To our mutual horror, they have begun to conspire together on everything from how we ought to furnish the nursery to what the babies' names should be… and all this in three days. (As if I needed _more_ reason to sick up!) Also _did_ end up needing to tell my boss early in order to work at home for a while; but at least that ought to give me more writing time!

In story news… I wasn't _quite_ able to get to the quidditch match in this chapter… I thought initially we'd be there, but the pre-match story took longer than I anticipated. We'll be playing quidditch next chapter instead. I shall work very hard to get that up as soon as possible.

Review responses at the end of the chapter. A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter 17! I really appreciate it, and was very touched by how many people enjoyed the memory sequences. As always, I encourage everyone to share their thoughts as we continue the story!

In any case, here is chapter 18 – and I do hope you all like it!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 18: Of Scarlet and Gold**

The few days after Harry's birthday were wonderful. At last, it seemed that the adults had moved past his rash decision to pursue Sirius Black through the grounds, and everyone was perfectly normal again. Hagrid surprised Harry on Monday morning with the exciting news that he'd been made a Hogwarts professor for the upcoming term, explaining at last why he'd been so often absent from the castle in the month that Harry had been back. Harry couldn't have been more thrilled for his giant friend, who was nearly in tears with his own happiness. He was a bit less enthusiastic when Hagrid announced that he had 'really excitin' stuff' planned for Harry's form that September… but he did his best to keep the smile hitched on his face and his reservations out of sight for now. Perhaps he would have a word with Albus later, just to be safe.

Remus, to Harry's concern and disappointment, had fallen ill again the day after his birthday. He spent three days in his quarters unable to have visitors, and looked drawn and thin when at last he re-emerged at breakfast on Wednesday. Still, he brushed off Harry's anxiety with a smile, assuring him that he was quite well enough for their lessons that day. And, indeed, Harry found Remus as good as his word. He was extra pleased when he managed to produce an unusually light and larger silver shield against the boggart-Dementor and – though his knees were rather shaky – kept his feet the entire time. Remus was delighted with his progress, and gave him a heartfelt clap on the shoulder in celebration that nearly buckled his quaking legs.

Snape was… well, Snape. Which, considering their odd interactions the week before, came as somewhat of a relief to Harry. He'd finally managed to master a semblance of the summoning charm in lessons with Minerva, which meant he and Snape could return to the task they'd set out to accomplish before that fateful afternoon of chaos. Harry was still having trouble mastering the wordless attempts; but he did find he could perform the spell wandlessly at least. Snape was, predictably, unimpressed by the half-accomplishment. Harry, on the other hand, was elated.

The only spot of darkness in his otherwise happy week was the headmaster's increased absences once again. Dumbledore's birthday fell on Tuesday, and yet they'd barely had time for a rushed dinner and a few presents before the headmaster was called away on an urgent message from the Ministry. They hadn't had time for any lessons together at all, with the madness of Albus' schedule. And Harry was particularly unhappy to hear that the headmaster would not be able to accompany him and Minerva to Edinburgh at the end of the week for the professional quidditch match. Unfortunately, the match had been rescheduled to Friday, 6 August rather than the final week of the holiday, due to some sort of conflict with the Austrian team. The change of date suited Minerva far better, as she had been anxious that they were pushing up against the start of term with the original scheme. However, the new schedule meant that Albus could not attend the match, as he was needed at the annual International Confederation of Wizards conference, which was to be held in Prague the same week-end.

Every night, Harry entered the Pensieve. Minerva, who had been furious that he'd stayed up so late to watch three on his birthday, insisted on a limit of one per evening, which she strictly enforced. Harry was irritated by this sanction at first… but then he decided he rather liked it. It spread the joy of seeing his parents' past out a little longer, and made the anticipation all that much sweeter. So far, in addition to the first night's memories, he'd seen his father lead the Gryffindor team to victory in the Quidditch Cup; his mother and Minerva preparing a highly amusing tea party, in which both Albus' and James' teacups ended up on their noses; and an entertaining afternoon when Aberforth had dropped by the cottage while Minerva and Albus had charge of Harry alone, when he'd been about seven months old.

Tonight, however, he contemplated the phials with careful consideration – willing a good choice to jump out at him. It was Wednesday; the last night he'd have to view a memory before they returned from the excursion to Edinburgh. The headmaster was out of the castle again, but Minerva had promised to accompany him in Albus' stead. He wanted to make it count.

At last, his hand came to rest on a promising silver phial. He lifted it gingerly out of the purple velvet, handing it to the Transfiguration teacher. She took it gently.

'Whose memory is it?' Minerva asked, considering the phial through narrowed eyes.

'I'm not sure,' said Harry with a shrug. 'Albus didn't label any of them… so I never know whose I'm going to get. Or exactly _what_ I'm going to get. But there hasn't been a disappointment yet. It's rather fun, actually – to have a bit of a surprise.'

Minerva still looked doubtful, but she poured the phial obediently into the basin.

'Shall we?' she asked, holding out a hand for Harry to come closer. He nodded, taking it.

They leaned forward together, and Harry felt himself fall into the depths of the Pensieve once more.

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He recognised his surroundings immediately. They were in the Hog's Head, looking just the same as ever. The place was a bit fuller than Harry had ever seen it in his physical visits, but he supposed that might be the time of day: judging by the darkened windows and roaring fire, it was past nightfall. Aberforth was busy tossing pints of ale and glasses of whisky at various patrons seated at the counter and in the little round booths. For a minute or so, Harry didn't recognise anyone else in the pub.

Then the door chimed the entry of a new patron, and Harry saw his father sweep into the room. James was pink in the face and a bit windswept, and flecks of melting snow clung to the shoulders of his travelling cloak as he removed it.

'Abe!' James hailed the barkeep, seating himself on a corner stool.

Aberforth grunted something in greeting, still busy serving a couple of warlocks on the other side of the counter. He dropped their drinks with a thud in front of them, then turned at last to see James.

'What's Albus want now?' he grumbled in a low voice, leaning over the bar toward Harry's father. 'Thought I'd get more than a few hours' peace, at least.'

But James shook his head, darting his eyes nervously about the crowded room.

'Not here for him,' he muttered back. 'Can't get a Firewhisky, can I?'

Aberforth frowned at him, but reached beneath the bar for a dusty bottle. He poured a measure of the whisky for James.

'Drinking alone at Hallowe'en?' he said mockingly. 'Never thought that was your style. But then, haven't seen much of you since June, outside Albus' little parties… thought you might have forgotten where I lived.'

James gave a half-hearted smile, downing most of the drink in one. 'Things have been a bit hectic since,' he said apologetically. 'I kept meaning to pop by, but…'

'Aye, I get it,' Aberforth assured him. 'I'm just taking the mickey, boy. Where's the rest of your gang, then? Scared off by the storm?'

'Not coming,' James said, shaking his head. 'And honestly – a snowstorm on Hallowe'en? I ask you; as if we needed any more confirmation that the world is collapsing around us.'

'World's always on the brink of collapse,' Aberforth said darkly, topping off the glass of whisky. 'All we can do to tape her back together.'

'Cheers,' James muttered, lifting the drink. He drank deeply again, shaking his head a bit as he set the glass back down.

'So, if you're not meeting the rest of the trouble-makers and you're not here for Albus, what's got you down this way, Potter?' Aberforth asked.

James looked nervous, glancing shiftily around again. When it appeared nobody was watching them, he reached into the folds of his robes, pulling out a small and very old-looking box of green velvet. He pushed it gingerly across the bar toward Aberforth, who took it in gnarled fingers and popped the lid.

A beautiful ring was set in the box, sparkling even in the dingy light of the pub. Harry and Minerva moved a bit closer to get a better look. The ring was old fashioned, glittering with an array of diamonds in a gold band. The centre stone, however, was a gorgeous, square-cut ruby, in deepest scarlet.

Aberforth whistled. 'Cheers, mate, but I'm afraid I'm a bit too much for you to handle,' he quipped. James scowled, swiping the ring back. He studied the effect of the light on the stones, frowning contemplatively at the box.

'I don't know if she'll like it…' he mused in an undertone. 'It's a bit dated, I suppose.'

'You must have spent a fortune,' Aberforth said, shooting a casual flick of his wand over his shoulder as he spoke. Harry saw a grubby looking man on the other side of the U-shaped counter give a muffled yelp, pulling back his hand from where he'd clearly been attempting to nick a refill without the barkeep's notice.

James shook his head. 'It was my grandmother's,' he said quietly. 'She left it for me. And I just… I don't know. It seemed to suit for Lily.'

'Gryffindor colours,' Aberforth noted, shaking his head. 'So typical.'

'I've been carrying it for six months,' James continued, apparently not having heard Aberforth's remark, 'Trying to find the right moment. It's hard to do romance, in a war.'

'So you decided on Hallowe'en?' Aberforth said, rolling his eyes. 'Can't think of a more romantic evening. You been taking advice on that front from my brother too?'

'Stop taking the piss, won't you?' complained James, frowning. 'I'm struggling here.'

'I –'

'Oi, Abe, chuck us two more!' A boisterous wizard barked from a far table, banging an empty bottle down in front of him. Aberforth pointed a finger at James to stay put, then bustled away to drop off the fresh round to the impatient wizard and his companion and see to a few of his other customers. James continued to stare pensively at the ring while the barman did his duty.

'Look lad,' Aberforth said reasonably, returning to Harry's father a few minutes later, 'I'm just giving you a hard time – you know that. But if you're asking my opinion, I think you're too young to be making this kind of decision.'

James' frown deepened. 'Why?' he asked simply.

'Because you lot are just out of school,' Aberforth pointed out gruffly. 'Because you're barely of age. Because you're still young enough to think Hallowe'en is a romantic time to pop the question,' he said, rolling his eyes again.

'None of those are good reasons,' James disagreed calmly. 'First off, Hallowe'en _is_ special for us… we got together on Hallowe'en.'

' _Last_ Hallowe'en,' Aberforth said. 'It's barely been a year, lad. A lot can change. _People_ can change. In twenty years, you might look back at yourself at eighteen and not even recognise the person you were then, the things and people you cared about. Trust me… life has a way of altering people, especially when things are hard. You _can't_ know what you'll want in future.'

' _This_ won't change,' James insisted, his jaw set. 'I would have asked her a year ago, if I thought she'd have said yes. I love her. I've always loved her. I can't imagine a world in which I could ever _not_ love her. She's everything, Aberforth. And if this… if this war continues, we've no idea what might happen. Whether I have a hundred years left or a hundred seconds, I want to spend every one of them with Lily Evans.'

Aberforth considered him seriously. 'Aye,' he said at last. 'There is that.'

James sighed, tucking the box away again and picking the whisky back up. 'So, don't give me away when she gets here.'

Aberforth, who'd been reaching to refill the tumbler again, poured the drink onto the countertop in distraction. ' _Here_?' he repeated, shocked. 'You're doing it _here_ , boy?'

James shrugged. 'Well, yeah,' he admitted, using his own wand to clear the mess. 'I mean… I wanted to do it back in McGonagall's classroom: that's where we started off. But I don't want to bother her now. Not after the ruckus yesterday, and dealing with the students and the feast and everything.'

'What happened yesterday?' Harry asked Minerva in an undertone. But she, who was watching James with a sad and tender expression, merely shook her head, nodding him to continue watching.

'Have you seen him yet?' James was asking.

Aberforth grunted. 'Went up this morning. He'll live to torture us all for some time yet. Let's get back to why you've decided _my_ pub would make for a romantic proposal. Between that and your sense of timing, boy, I'm seriously questioning your judgment.'

James gave a low chuckle, but he was saved his answer as Lily entered the pub, a burst of snowy wind sweeping her through the door.

'Merlin it's freezing out there!' she said, shrugging out of her cloak and rubbing her arms a bit as she made to join the men. 'Good evening, Abe,' she greeted the barman, leaning across the counter to kiss him on the cheek.

'Lovely as ever, Evans,' he greeted her back, sliding a butterbeer across before she could ask. She took it with a smile, hopping onto a stool next to James.

'How's Albus doing?' she asked.

'With any luck we'll all get a few days' respite from his meddling,' Aberforth said in a careless tone.

Lily frowned. 'You shouldn't be so cavalier, Aberforth,' she chided him. 'If it weren't for him, the whole town might have been massacred. And he's quite lucky… any other wizard would have been killed.'

'Well, might do him some good to remember he's as mortal as the rest of us,' the barman grumbled. But his attitude softened as Lily's eyes flashed. 'Rest easy, pet. He's just fine.'

James had not yet spoken. He was staring at Lily with his jaw set, a bit green about the ears. Harry's mother seemed to notice. She touched his arm, looking concerned.

'Are you alright, James?'

'Marry me,' he said huskily. His voice was so low, and the blunt request so choked, that Harry might have missed it if he hadn't known the question was coming.

Lily raised an eyebrow. 'I beg your pardon?'

'Marry me,' James repeated.

Lily pulled her arm back, her expression somewhere between shocked and thrilled. But then her eyes grew steely, and she glared back.

'You _cannot,_ ' she hissed in a dangerous voice, ' _Possibly_ be proposing to me slouched over a barstool, James Potter. How many has he had?' she demanded, turning her accusatory glare on Aberforth. But the barman backed away in silence, his eyes dancing in a way that reminded Harry heavily of Albus.

James gave Lily a crestfallen look. 'Are you saying _no_?'

'I'm saying _nothing_ if you don't ask properly,' Lily insisted, crossing her arms expectantly.

For a beat, James merely gaped at her. And then a broad smile lit up his face, and he dropped gracefully from the stool onto one knee. Slowly, he pulled the little velvet box from the pocket of his robes, lifting the lid to show Harry's mother the beautiful ruby ring. Lily's eyes widened as the stones caught the light.

'Lily Jane Evans,' James said solemnly. 'You are all I have ever wanted, and so much more than I have ever deserved. I can think of nothing else; I _see_ nobody else. You have my heart; you _are_ my heart. You are my world. You are my light. You are the love of my life. And I want to _spend_ my life with you. Always. So… please, for Merlin's sake, will you marry me?'

The entire pub was watching them now – from the impatient tipsy wizard in the corner booth to the grubby would-be thief on the opposite side of the U-shaped bar. Minerva had tears in her eyes from her place next to Harry, and Aberforth was looking predictably uncomfortable with the raw emotions. Even Harry, who knew how this had all turned out in the end, found himself holding his breath.

Lily smiled, standing from her stool. 'Yes,' she said simply, offering her own hand.

James slipped the ring onto it at once, grinning as it slid into place. It was a perfect fit.

Then he was on his feet even more quickly than he'd dropped to the floor, pulling her into his arms; and Lily was laughing, and Aberforth was grunting, and someone across the pub started a round of applause and wolf-whistling that nearly deafened them all. And Harry's father and mother were spinning and kissing: caught in their moment of blissful oblivion amidst a war-torn world.

And then the memory scene was fading again, and Harry and Minerva were pulled from the past.

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'Aberforth's,' said Minerva as they landed in the office again. 'I am glad he thought to include this one.' She stared down into the swirling Pensieve, running a finger along its edge.

'He proposed on Hallowe'en?' Harry said, grinning ear to ear. Minerva's answering smile was sad.

'Yes,' she said softly. Her eyes, to Harry's surprise, were still swimming slightly. 'Aberforth hadn't told me the full story before… Three years to the day. How awful.'

Harry's own joy faded as he watched her, a sense of foreboding creeping in. 'What are you talking about?' he asked in a whisper.

Minerva looked sharply at him for a moment. Then she bit her lip. 'Harry, I –'

'Three years to the day from _what_ , professor?' Harry asked in a louder voice. He thought he knew. But he wanted her to say it anyway.

'I thought you knew, Harry,' she said apologetically. 'I would never have said –'

'That's when they died, isn't it?' Harry interrupted hoarsely. 'Hallowe'en…'

Of course it was. He didn't need Minerva's quiet nod. It made an ironic sort of sense… in that cruel, twisted way so many things in his life seemed to these days. He felt his stomach roil – thinking of the blissful ignorance with which he'd looked _forward_ to Hallowe'en at Hogwarts: to the feast, the merriment. He'd been laughing and joking and watching Hagrid grow pumpkins the size of carriages… while in some distant churchyard, his parents marked another year cold in the ground.

 _How_ could he not have known?

'I'm surprised nobody has mentioned it before,' said Minerva, breaking into his thoughts as she came to lay a hand on his shoulder. 'I would have expected your aunt and uncle had told you at some point, or that you'd read about it. It is in quite a lot of our history books, after all.'

'They never told me _anything_ , if they could avoid it,' said Harry bitterly. 'They never spoke of either of my parents. And I won't read the histories. Hermione tried to make me once, just after we became friends in first year. But it felt too…' he shrugged. 'Anyway, I knew it was about that time, I suppose. I knew I was fifteen months old give or take, and I knew I got there somewhere near to Bonfire Night. But I never knew the date before.'

'I'm so sorry, Harry,' Minerva said again.

'It's fine,' said Harry gruffly. 'You couldn't have known.'

Suddenly, he was rather wishing he hadn't seen this particular memory… hadn't had to have this conversation. He shook out from under her arm.

'I'm tired,' he said quietly. 'I'm going up to bed, if that's alright.'

'Of course,' said Minerva. But she looked uncertain. 'Do you need anything?'

Harry shook his head. 'I'm fine,' he lied. 'Goodnight.'

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Albus returned to the castle very late indeed, and the grounds were still and silent in the summer darkness. The castle stood in blackness as well, except for a lone, flickering light in the headmaster's tower. Albus frowned as he considered it – it was well past two. He hoped Minerva was not waiting up for him.

He sighed as he made his way through the doors of Hogwarts and up the many flights of stairs to his quarters. It had been another long day.

Fawkes trilled softly in greeting as he entered the darkened study. He stopped for a moment to discard his travelling cloak and stroke the phoenix's head. The mere touch alleviated some of his stress. His eyes wandered to the desk, where someone had left the Pensieve out, empty of memories tonight. He wondered if Harry and Minerva had ventured together through another of Harry's gifts, or if Minerva had been using it for personal reasons. He had half a mind to do so himself, as he fought against the onslaught of churning and disturbing thoughts preying on his mind. But the contemplation reminded him of the flickering candle, and he made instead for the staircase.

To his surprise, the phoenix accompanied him, heralding his passage as he made his way down the corridor at the top of the stairs. But Fawkes did not continue to the headmaster's chamber. Instead, he hovered outside Harry's room, watching Albus expectantly. Frowning, the headmaster turned the handle and pushed the door gently open.

Harry was sitting up in the bed, a photo album open in his lap. He looked up as Albus stepped through the door, his face bearing every sign of recent tears.

'Are you alright, child?' Albus asked in concern, shutting the door quietly and flicking a hand to brighten the light of the room.

Harry said something in surprise, but Albus could not hear. For a moment, he was confused. Then, in a flash, he realised the problem.

' _Finite_ ,' he muttered, waving his wand once before him. There was a shimmering of purple haze, and the charm dispersed. Harry went a bit pink as he registered his mistake.

'Why have you placed a silencing charm around the bed, Harry?' Albus asked, seating himself on the edge and looking seriously into the boy's face. Harry's blush deepened.

'I didn't want to wake anyone,' he said to his knees. 'And I had a feeling I might, tonight.'

'Did you have a nightmare?' Albus asked softly. Harry nodded, still not meeting his eyes. 'Harry,' Albus said gently, 'You know we do not mind if you wake the entire castle. We would much rather know something is wrong, and know it immediately, than have you suffer. Have you been setting these charms often?'

Harry shook his head. 'No,' he said quietly. 'This was the first time. I wasn't even sure it would work… but I found the spell in one of the Charms books in the library and thought I'd try it out.'

'An impressive feat,' Albus said, giving Harry a small smile. 'That charm is not usually taught until your fifth year. I shall have to tell Filius. He will be delighted.'

Harry gave half a smile in reply, but still did not raise his head. Albus squeezed his knee gently.

'Are you feeling alright?' he asked in concern, studying Harry closely. 'Do you need a potion to help you fall back to sleep?'

The child shook his head. 'No, thank you,' he said. 'But it wasn't that kind of dream. I just… I didn't want to go back to sleep just yet.'

'Hmm,' Albus said, still considering him. 'I wish you would look at me, Harry.'

Reluctantly, the boy raised his chin, meeting Albus' eyes for the first time. The headmaster could read both doubt and sadness in their emerald depths. He frowned.

'What has happened tonight to upset you so?'

Harry shrugged. 'It's nothing,' he said dismissively. 'I'm just being stupid.'

'Harry.'

The child sighed, fingering the book of photos again. Albus saw that it was filled with photographs of James and Lily – the album that Hagrid had given Harry at the end of his first year at the school. He could sense that the boy was working himself toward speech. So he waited.

'I went into the Pensieve again tonight, with Minerva,' he said at last. 'We saw a memory of Aberforth's. It was the night my father proposed to my mother, on Hallowe'en.'

Albus smiled. 'I remember,' he said with a small chuckle. 'James told me the story, a week or so after the fact. I was a little laid up myself at the time, but I would have dearly loved to witness Lily's reaction.'

Harry gave a ghost of a grin. 'That part was pretty funny,' he admitted. Then he frowned again. 'Where were you, sir? They said some odd things – it sounded like you were ill or something.'

The headmaster shook his head. 'I was temporarily indisposed,' he clarified. 'But not ill. There had been an incident in the south of England a day or two before, and I had to perform some unexpectedly powerful magic. It necessitated a few days' recovery, but nothing more. The full story can wait, I think. It is a thrilling tale, and one not best told at two o'clock in the morning.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. ' _You_ had magical exhaustion?' he clarified doubtfully.

Albus chucked again. 'Even old men have their limits,' he said, eyes twinkling. 'And, like all wizards, we must learn to respect them.' He sobered again, as Harry's amusement began to fade. 'Was it seeing the memory that disturbed you?' he asked. 'I cannot imagine Aberforth would deliberately include anything upsetting… but then, Aberforth has a different idea of what sort of things are appropriate for school-age wizards than myself.'

But Harry shook his head. 'It wasn't the memory, exactly,' he said. 'It was just… When we got back, Minerva said something about it being three years to the day from –' he swallowed thickly – 'From the day my parents died,' he finished in a whisper. 'I know it sounds stupid, but I didn't know the date before. Nobody had ever told me.'

'It does not sound foolish at all. Though that is not the way I would have chosen for you to find out,' Albus said softly. 'I am sorry that it came to that. It is a discussion I should have had with you long ago.'

Harry shrugged again. 'It's not your fault,' he said. 'But it did make me feel… I'm not exactly sure. Guilty, maybe, that I didn't know before; or that I hadn't thought to ask. That I'd been celebrating and laughing on Hallowe'en, without knowing it was the day they were killed. Like I should have been paying my respects to them instead. And then I realised: I don't even know where it is they're buried. Or _if_ they're buried at all. Do wizards have funerals? I've never been to one – wizard or Muggle. Did I go to my parents' funeral? Who spoke? What do wizards do? Are people buried, or cremated, or something else entirely? Is there a ceremony in a church? Is there a heaven for wizards? Is there a God?'

Albus held up a hand to calm the series of questions, which was quickly approaching hysterics.

'I can see why such thoughts might disrupt your rest,' he said, with a sad smile. 'And I do not blame you for having them. But first of all, Harry, you should never feel guilty for living your life. It is as I told you on your birthday: these memories are a gift, and a beautiful one, but they are not meant to cast you adrift in a sea of depression. Your parents died so you could _live_ , Harry. And it is not living to spend your days in mourning or guilt. You honour their memory far more by enjoying your life, rather than lamenting theirs.'

'I understand what you're saying,' said Harry, wiping a bit at his face. 'But it isn't so easy. I can't _not_ remember that they're gone. I can't _not_ wonder about where they are now.'

'And I would never expect that of you,' Albus assured him. 'But remembering and becoming consumed with grief that keeps you awake at night are not the same, nor should you feel that you do them a disservice by choosing to move forward. That being said, I shall do my best to answer some of your questions. What I can, at least.'

He removed himself from the edge of the bed, settling more comfortably into the adjacent armchair.

'Your parents, as you know, were residing in Godric's Hollow in a cottage at the time of their deaths. It was not their only home; the Potter family owns a larger house in the countryside of northern England, where your grandparents and several generations of your father's family lived for many years. Your grandparents predeceased James, and he did not wish to live in their home again just yet. He and Lily remained in the cottage. The estate, incidentally, is part of your inheritance. You will have the option of living there yourself when you come of age.' Harry looked surprised at this, but he held whatever queries he might have. Albus knew the child's interest in his parents' fates weighed more heavily on his thoughts than any possible claim to unknown property.

'Your parents were buried in the small churchyard in Godric's Hollow,' he told him. 'There is an ancient wizarding presence in the hamlet, although the village today is home to both Muggle and wizarding residents. Many wizarding families have members who have been buried in the churchyard, stretching back generations.' He paused a moment, deliberating.

'Including my own,' he said at last.

He almost regretted it, even as he made the decision. It was not a period of his life Albus ever chose to recount, and even less did he wish to think about it himself. But as he looked at Harry, alone and so small and sad in the bed, he knew that the child needed this: needed some sort of connection he could cling to; someone to understand the grief that was weighing down his soul.

Harry's eyes widened. ' _Your_ family is from Godric's Hollow?' he asked quietly. 'Did you grow up there, sir?'

'Yes, in part' said Albus, very quietly. 'Many, many years before your parents came to live there. My family's cottage, in fact, was only two doors down from James and Lily's. I was born in an English village called Mould-on-the-Wold, but we relocated to Godric's Hollow when I was ten years old. I lost both my parents when I was quite young, though not nearly as young as yourself. My mother died just after I left Hogwarts, and was buried in the churchyard not far from where your own parents were laid to rest. My father had predeceased her.'

'I'm sorry,' said Harry softly, reaching a small hand over to squeeze Albus' arm in an odd reversal. 'I never knew.'

'It is many years ago, now,' said Albus, trying for a lighter tone. 'But I do thank you, all the same.'

Fawkes, who Albus had nearly forgotten about in the midst of the conversation, trilled from his chosen perch atop Harry's wardrobe, fluttering down to rest between them on the edge of the bed. Harry ran the fingers of his other hand down the bird's wing feathers. Like Albus in the study, the child seemed to draw a quiet strength from the phoenix's warmth.

The headmaster cleared his throat. 'In any case,' he continued. 'The ceremony for your parents was a very private one, given the chaos of the time and the circumstances surrounding their deaths. However, you will find as you grow up that privacy in the wizarding world is about as well-respected outside of Hogwarts as it is within her walls, and just as difficult to keep. No less than three hundred people, therefore, ended up in attendance at your parents' funeral. You were not among them, as for your own safety I had decided against exposing you to a crowd I myself would not be able to subdue. Indeed, I strongly suspect a great deal of those who turned out for the services did so at least in part for hope of seeing you. As neither of your parents left surviving wizarding relatives, I handled most of the arrangements myself with the help of a few of their closer friends. Remus spoke at the interment, as did I. Their graves are marked with a joint stone of white marble.'

'So they were buried?'

'Yes,' Albus affirmed. 'Burial is the traditional custom among most wizards, although there are some who choose an alternate form of committal, as there are in the Muggle world. Your other questions, however, are not so easily answered. Some wizards attend church, but it varies greatly, as it does with our Muggle counterparts. Our funeral services are not usually held in a church, however. Most wizards choose a graveside ceremony, if only because there is a certain amount of magic that is usually involved in the final farewell and such spellwork can be tricky indoors. Almost all churches, in this country, are Muggle-run. Most wizards are not religious in the traditional sense, but that is not to say that we do not believe in a higher power. It is a great tragedy that some among us begin to feel, with all our powers in the physical realm, that there could be nothing greater than the triumph of wizarding kind. What _is_ magic, if not a gift from some force beyond our control? The most powerful forms of magic are rarely linked to our books or cleverness or endless incantations – they are a manifestation of goodness.

'And there is, most assuredly, a world beyond our own. What that existence is or what its capabilities are, I could not tell you. But I hope, one day, we will both be lucky enough to find out for ourselves. And I am certain your parents, and my own, will be there to welcome us when that day arrives.'

Harry was still stroking Fawkes' feathers, but he seemed less melancholy than before. Albus was feeling tired again; this deep conversation was not what he had anticipated for the end of the evening.

'Will you take me there?' Harry asked, looking up from the phoenix. 'Maybe at Hallowe'en this year? I'd like to go… just to see.'

Albus hesitated. It wasn't a journey he relished. Even when Lily and James had been living in the village, he'd always apparated directly to their gates. He very, _very_ rarely visited the churchyard. It was far too painful. Even speaking to Ariana's portrait was a monthly trial.

But Harry was staring expectantly at him with raw desperation in his eyes… and Albus could not deny him.

'Of course,' he promised, trying to hide his own reservations. Harry smiled.

'Now,' the headmaster said, getting to his feet again. 'It is really quite late, and you do not want to be tired on the morrow. We should both be getting to bed.'

Harry frowned. 'But, aren't you leaving tomorrow, sir?' he asked.

Albus nodded. 'I'm afraid I must,' he admitted. 'I shall be here in the morning, but I need to leave for the Continent before supper.' He smiled as he saw Harry chewing his lip. 'Do not worry so, Harry,' he said gently. 'It is only for a few days, and your friends will be here tomorrow evening. You will barely notice I am gone.'

'I'd forgotten!' said Harry, brightening at once. 'Minerva said she'd bring them before supper, so we could all leave from here first thing Friday morning.'

'And a wonderful week-end it will be, I am sure,' Albus said, twinkling at him. 'But far more so if you are not dead on your feet. Are you sure you do not require a potion to get some rest?'

Harry shook his head, still smiling. 'I'm good, but thank you,' he insisted.

Albus nodded, heading for the door. The phoenix brushed his head once more under Harry's hand, then took to the air again to follow.

'Oh, and Harry?' Albus said, pausing with a hand on the doorknob. He waited for the boy to look at him. 'No more silencing charms,' said Albus seriously, locking his gaze. 'Or I am afraid I shall be forced to place a monitoring spell on your bed.'

Harry went pink at once, squirming a bit at the childish suggestion. 'Right, sir,' he said, looking embarrassed. 'I promise.'

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' _Harry_!'

Harry barely had time to brace himself before Hermione's arms were around him; her bushy brown hair all he could see as she clung to his neck. Ron, who had come through the floo ahead of her, gave a noise of protest on Harry's behalf from behind him.

'Hi Hermione,' he said, laughing a little as she straightened out of his embrace.

'Oh Harry, I've missed you so much this summer,' she gushed. 'Has it been alright?'

'Er – yes, very good,' said Harry awkwardly. He wasn't sure where to start. Hermione looked as though she knew what he meant.

'I'm sure things have been quite interesting here,' she said with a knowing smile.

Harry laughed again. 'Well, you know me,' he said, grinning back. 'I'm not much for the quiet life.'

'Oi, when's dinner?' put in Ron in a half-grumpy voice from over Harry's shoulder. 'And what am I, Hermione, mouldy frog's liver?'

Hermione laughed. 'Oh, go on then,' she said, throwing her arms around him too. Ron looked taken aback by the enthusiasm.

'Your parents aren't coming then?' Harry asked, when nobody followed through the fire. He couldn't stop grinning; it was so wonderful to see his friends again. Hermione was quite tan from her holiday abroad, and the Egyptian sun had left Ron frecklier than ever. Harry thought he had also grown at least two inches in the weeks they'd been apart.

Ron shrugged. 'Dad's barely been home since we got back yesterday,' he told them. 'And I reckon Mum's still chatting with McGonagall. But I don't think she'll leave Ginny and the twins alone. She's been in a right state, all this news about Sirius Black. She was ready to call our whole scheme off for the week-end, even with McGonagall coming. Took Dad hours to talk her round.'

Hermione gave a shudder. 'But it's just awful, isn't it?' she said, worrying her lip. 'I mean, it's been over a month already, and they still haven't been able to find him. Even my parents are a bit anxious, and they're Muggles.'

'And nobody knows how he broke out,' said Ron conspiratorially. Unlike Hermione, he seemed to Harry far more intrigued than worried. 'It's never been done before.'

'Or what he's broken out to _do_ ,' said Hermione, looking even more concerned.

'I know what he's broken out to do,' said Harry, as lightly as he could.

Both Ron and Hermione stared at him.

'You would,' Ron grumbled. 'Living with Dumbledore, I guess I shouldn't be –'

'They think he's planning to come after me,' Harry interrupted. Ron broke off his complaint, his mouth remaining comically open mid-word. Hermione cupped a hand to her own.

'Oh, _Harry_ ,' she whispered, reaching for him and clutching his forearm tightly. 'I just _knew_ you would play into this somehow. It always does seem to happen to you, doesn't it?'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Thanks, Hermione,' he said wryly.

Ron cleared his throat. 'But, mate, there's no way to _know_ that's what he means to do. I mean, they can't even find him for Merlin's –'

'He's been here already,' Harry interrupted again. 'He came onto the grounds, a couple weeks back. I met him – in the Forbidden Forest.'

Hermione's hand tightened on his arm. 'You _what_? But, Harry, what were you _doing_ in the Forest?! You _know_ we're not –'

'I don't need another lecture, Hermione,' said Harry in exasperation. 'And I'm fine, obviously. He didn't kill me. Actually, I didn't even get hurt – well, unless you count Snape cursing me –'

'He _what_ –'

'I knew it!' said Ron, punching a fist into his opposite hand over Hermione's astonishment. 'I _knew_ he was evil – always said it, didn't I? He and Black are probably in it together. Snape's probably how that nutter got out in the first place.'

'It wasn't like that,' Harry disagreed, more sharply than he'd intended. 'You weren't there, alright? You don't get –'

But he was interrupted as the floo burst into green flames once again, and Minerva stepped neatly out onto the hearth rug. She looked a little surprised at the tension in the room.

'Everything alright?' she asked primly, brushing a bit of ash from the sleeve of her robes as she came over to the trio in the middle of the Hall.

'Er – yes, we're fine,' said Harry quickly, schooling his face into a more neutral expression. He wished Hermione would let go of her death grip on his arm.

Minerva looked unconvinced, but she didn't press the point.

'Welcome back, Ms Granger, Mr Weasley,' she said instead, smiling for both of them. 'It'll be another hour or so until dinner, I'm afraid. I have a few things to see to this evening in advance of our departure tomorrow. I would rather you not go into the grounds on your own this late in the day, but if you would like I can ask Hagrid to collect you?'

'Please, professor, might we go up to the library?' Hermione asked.

'The _lib_ –' Ron started, looking horrified, but Harry stamped down on his toes. 'Er – I mean, yes, professor, can we go to the library?' he amended, still having difficulty keeping the pain out of his voice.

' _May_ you use the library,' she corrected. 'And yes, I suppose that would be alright,' she agreed, looking slightly suspicious. 'I will have your things brought up to the Tower for you.'

They gave their thanks quickly, and hurried from the room. Once they had reached the privacy of the deserted library, Hermione rounded on Harry again.

'Harry, what _exactly_ happened in the Forest?' she demanded, still looking stressed.

Harry recounted the events after leaving Snape's classroom: the trip over the grounds, the Dementors, the flight into the Forest, the strange conversation with Sirius Black, and Snape's arrival. He told them about the duel, and how he'd been hit accidentally in the fighting. He told them nearly everything of what had happened afterward… except the realisation that his father and Sirius Black had been friends, at least for a time. He couldn't work out even in his own mind exactly _why_ he'd kept that part of the story to himself… but he just didn't feel ready to say it aloud again. Not yet.

When he'd finished, both Ron and Hermione were staring at him, looking a mixture of sympathetic and terrified.

'Oh _Harry_ ,' Hermione said again. 'You never should have _been_ there, you know. If what Dumbledore thinks is true, and it sounds like it is, you're going to have to be so careful. You might have been killed! You're lucky, really, that Snape got there. Even if he –'

' _Lucky_?!' Ron repeated scathingly. 'Hermione, have you gone mad? He's _lucky_ he didn't lose his leg! I bet it was all an act mate, really I do. Snape and Black have obviously got some kind of history… and they _both_ nearly did you in.'

'He made a _mistake_ , Ron,' Hermione disagreed snappishly.

'A mistake,' Ron scoffed. 'How many times do you reckon it's been a _mistake_ when he's bullied Harry in lessons, eh, Hermione? How many times was it a _mistake_ when he's caught him out? Or caught _all_ of us out, looking to get us expelled?'

Hermione blushed a bit. 'Ron, we were caught breaking the rules,' she pointed out. 'He's a teacher, what more do you –'

'He does it on _purpose_ , Hermione!' Ron insisted. 'He's been out for all of us since day one, especially Harry. He's –'

'This wasn't on purpose,' Harry said firmly, breaking into the row. 'It wasn't, Ron. Hermione's right. Black might have done much worse than Snape's curse could ever have done. And I was lucky he got there.'

Ron gaped at Harry as thought the latter had suddenly expressed a desire to join a band of travelling gypsies.

'Harry,' he said in shock. 'How _can_ you stick up for him? After everything that greasy git has done to _us_? For all we know, he and Black were probably Death Eater pals back in the good old days.'

Harry felt his blood chill suddenly.

 _'You can't trust Snape, Harry. He's probably already working with him; they'll kill you if they can. Snape's been dark since childhood, Harry, ever since we were at school. He's dangerous – he's evil. He's a Death –'_

'Harry, are you alright?'

He shook himself from the memory. Ron was frowning, and Hermione was peering closely at him.

'What's a Death Eater?' Harry asked, looking at Ron.

'You've never heard of Death Eaters?' asked Ron in surprise. Harry shook his head. 'That's what You Know Who's supporters were called – the close ones, that actually followed him and did his bidding. Some of them were almost as bad as You Know Who, from what Dad says. Sirius Black was a Death Eater, obviously. But loads of them never got caught. They wore masks and stuff: things to conceal who they really were when they were out torturing and killing people. And then a lot of the ones that did get caught pretended they had been bewitched into following You Know Who's orders, and the Ministry let them off. I'd bet anything Snape was a Death Eater, he's definitely evil enough.'

'Ron, you shouldn't say things like that,' Hermione admonished, glancing nervously around the deserted library. 'Snape couldn't have been a Death Eater. Dumbledore would never have let him teach.'

'Snape's not a Death Eater,' Harry agreed quietly. 'And he and Black _hate_ each other. Something about when they were at school together; they're the same age.'

Hermione nodded smugly, but Ron still looked unconvinced.

'Come on,' Harry said, striding for the door again. 'Dinner ought to be ready soon.'

As the trio made their way down to the Great Hall again, Ron and Hermione continued their bickering in low voices. But Harry kept silent, churning everything over in his mind.

 _Had_ this _been what Sirius Black was trying to say, before they were interrupted in the forest clearing? Was he trying to tell Harry that Snape had been a Death Eater?_

But that didn't make any sense. _Black_ was the Death Eater. Black had gone to prison for it. He'd murdered thirteen people with a single curse. Snape was… well, he wasn't exactly kind. But he wasn't really evil – not in the same sense as Sirius Black, and not in the way Ron meant. Harry didn't like Snape much, but he couldn't really hate him, not anymore. Snape was taciturn and irritable and sometimes nasty. He certainly had no love for Harry; and Ron was right, he _did_ try to catch them out whenever he had the opportunity. But he'd also saved Harry's life on multiple occasions. He'd come to find him when he'd run off from Privet Drive. He'd taught him over the summers. He'd been there in the Chamber. He'd had loads more opportunity to hurt Harry than Sirius Black ever could have… and Harry was still alive. And Hermione was right, Dumbledore would never have let Snape teach at Hogwarts if he'd been a servant of Lord Voldemort. He would not have insisted on forcing Harry and Snape together at every opportunity. He would not trust him, as he always insisted to Harry that he did.

And yet, as he pushed open the door to the Great Hall, Harry couldn't help but feel that there was some part of this odd story he was missing.

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' _No_!' Severus snarled, clenching his teeth so tightly he had a vague fear a back molar may crack. His teacup shook in his hand. 'Not a chance, Albus!'

The headmaster remained perfectly stoic, raising an eyebrow as he sipped calmly at his own tea. He was dressed for travelling, and Severus knew he would be setting out as soon as this task had been completed. No doubt he had planned it this way – so he would be gone from the castle if Severus aimed to raise additional objection.

'Are you saying you are not capable of minding three thirteen-year-olds for two days, Severus, because I assure you Minerva will –'

'Of _course_ I am _capable_ of doing it,' Severus interrupted waspishly. 'I do not _wish_ to do so.'

'We all of us must perform tasks we would rather leave to others,' Albus said heavily. 'It is, alas, the burden of humanity.'

'Albus,' Severus groaned. 'I have given my time, my energy and half my holiday to the brat… just how much more am I expected to sacrifice?'

Albus frowned at the phrasing. 'I would not consider it a _sacrifice_ to attend a sporting event and spend a night away from the castle,' he disagreed. 'You have not taken leave in nearly three years, Severus. It might do you well to see beyond the gates for a minibreak.'

Severus wanted to rage and storm. He wanted to curse everything in sight, including the headmaster. But, in deference to their newly-repaired cordiality, he did his best to keep his protests within bounds.

'The Golden Trio will hardly want to spend a week-end with _me_ ,' he pointed out. 'This is supposed to be something of a treat, is it not? I rather doubt my presence will enhance the gaiety.'

'Your presence is what you make of it, Severus,' Albus countered.

'Why can _you_ not go yourself, Albus?'

'I am expected in Prague,' Albus said with a sigh. 'There is no way around it. As it is I have raised some eyebrows with my refusal to attend more than two days of the conference. But I will not be away from the castle longer than that while Sirius Black remains at large. And Remus cannot make the journey either, if he is to be ready for autumn term.'

'One of the Weasley parents?' Severus tried.

'Arthur is only just returned,' Albus reminded him. 'He is not able to take time from the Ministry again so soon – not now that Cornelius has pulled everyone from their duties to assist in the hunt. And I cannot ask Molly to leave her other children while she and everyone else are so anxious over the danger of the time.'

Severus frowned. 'Albus, I _really_ think this is a mistake,' he said, almost pleadingly. He could sense defeat in the air.

The headmaster smiled faintly. 'Severus, you would be doing me a great personal favour by consenting to go,' he told him. 'And really, it's a quidditch match in Edinburgh, not a tournament in the Colosseum. Your presence is merely precautionary. How much trouble could they possibly get into?'

Severus raised an eyebrow, blinking his incredulity.

' _Potter_ and his little friends, Albus? Really, I've half a mind to write the governors. You are growing senile, old man.'

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'How are we getting to Edinburgh tomorrow, professor?' Hermione asked, taking the dish of parsnips from Harry as the four of them began loading their plates. Dinner was just the four of them tonight. Dumbledore had left for the Continent that afternoon, both Remus and Hagrid were running errands in the village, and Snape had sent word to Minerva that he would eat in his quarters that evening.

'We shall be taking a portkey,' Minerva informed her, passing the jacket potatoes to Ron. 'We will need to be ready to leave quite early, so I expect you all to get straight to bed after supper.'

'Of course, professor,' Hermione agreed immediately.

'I've never travelled by portkey before,' Harry put in, a bit nervously.

'Nor have I,' Hermione told him. 'But I've read all about them, and it doesn't sound too difficult.'

'It is not,' Minerva assured her. 'Since there will be five of us travelling and you are all underage, I thought this would be simpler than dealing with multiple side-along apparitions. The headmaster was able to provide a portkey that will take us directly from the castle to the inn we've booked for the night, and we shall have a bit of time for sight-seeing before the match begins in the afternoon.'

'Ooh, I love Edinburgh!' said Hermione enthusiastically. 'I haven't been since I started at Hogwarts. It will be fascinating to see the wizarding parts of the city.'

'Five of us?' Harry repeated, frowning at Minerva. 'I thought Professor Dumbledore couldn't make it?'

'He can't,' Minerva said with a sigh. 'He is abroad until Sunday. But given… the current situation,' she shot a concerned glance at Harry, 'We did not think it advisable to travel without additional supervision.'

'Remus is coming along?' asked Harry, brightening at once. 'Excellent.'

'Unfortunately no,' Minerva said. 'Remus won't be able to accompany us either.'

'But he's feeling better,' Harry pointed out. 'I had lessons with him just yesterday.'

'Yes, but he is busy trying to put together a syllabus for the coming term,' Minerva reminded him. 'We shall need to send booklists forthwith; we've left it far too late already. And Albus has asked for his assistance in strengthening the castle protections.'

'Who's coming with us then, professor?' asked Ron, emerging at last from his roast.

'Professor Snape,' said Minerva. Her voice held a hint of warning, which correctly anticipated the predictable reactions. Ron's mouth fell open in horror as his fork clattered off the edge of his plate to the floor. Hermione looked so quickly between Harry and Minerva that Harry was surprised her neck hadn't audibly cracked. And Harry himself gaped at the professor for a moment in shocked disbelief, before at last he felt he could speak.

'No way,' he said, staring her with pleading eyes. 'You can't be serious.'

'I am perfectly serious, Harry,' Minerva said, even more warning in her tone as she sent Ron's fork back to its place with a flick of her wand.

'But…' Harry sputtered, 'This is supposed to be _fun_.'

'And it shall be,' Minerva said firmly. 'But I'll not put any of you in danger by travelling without appropriate supervision. Professor Snape will keep his temper, as will the three of you. Or there will be repercussions all around,' she told them sternly.

None of the three children replied, each staring determinedly at their plates. Harry didn't feel remotely hungry anymore. He couldn't help his mind from wandering back to its internal debate…

 _Was_ Snape really working for the 'side of the light,' as Remus had told him? Was he trustworthy, as Albus always insisted?

Or was Ron right… was Sirius Black right…

Had Professor Snape been a servant of Lord Voldemort?

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 **Blue Luver5000** : Thank you for your review! I'm glad you liked the last few instalments, and hope you enjoy the continuation.

 **AECM** : Thank you again for reviewing! I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

 **Guest** (Second Guest Review for Ch. 17): Thank you! I hope you continue to like the direction we're going in and really appreciate the review!

 **Lollypops101** (Chapter 15  & 17 reviews): Thank you for your reviews and support! I'm pleased you enjoyed it. And you're right – poor Sirius really finds himself in a desperate situation… I'm also happy you enjoyed the memory sequence : ) I hope you like the continuation!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thank you for your review! Not _quite_ as swift an update as the last few chapters… but I hope you enjoyed this one too!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for your review! I'm happy you liked watching Harry's responses. As to your question about Grindelwald… well, I think you've sort of hit the pivotal issue. He's not the hero of the story… _is_ he evil? Is he trying to be _good_? Is it some odd combination of the two? And how does Dumbledore play into his mindset? I definitely would not say he cares about Harry. He doesn't even know him. I think he's _intrigued_ by Harry, just as he is intrigued by Voldemort. But ultimately, for Gellert, everything hinges on his feelings for and connection with Albus. Exactly what those feelings and intentions are, I won't say. But it's more complex than simply wanting to jerk him around or wanting to aid the headmaster – as some of the other characters have warned and cautioned.

 **AntiCreator** : Thank you for both your three reviews and well-wishes! As to Azkaban, my inspiration for its location was actually related to the some research on ocean topography of the North Sea… which revealed the location of Silverpit crater and some interesting stories about the surrounding waters. I thought it would fit rather nicely into my idea of the location and history. I haven't read the fic you're referring to, but that certainly sounds like an interesting idea as well. To answer your Chapter 11 question, this is set in canon timeline, so the Chunnel was not yet open (it opened in May 1994). I didn't define precisely where the train was taking the Grangers, but they wouldn't have been able to take it to France. I'm very glad you are enjoying both the stories in this series, and hope you will like where this one heads! Thank you again for sharing your thoughts!

 **AlsoKnownAsMatt** : Thank you for reviewing, and I'm really glad you enjoyed _The_ _Memories_! It was a great deal of fun to write, and I agree that it seemed an important character development moment for Harry, who is always yearning to understand his family. Thank goodness I do not have word limits here… or I fear we would never reach the end of this book! I hope you enjoy the continuation.

 **Revkah2010** : Thank you for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter and the memories; and I agree, it would have been fun to see JKR show something along these lines (and I'm sure she would have done it better!). I'm glad you liked Sirius's bit too, although I think it was a bit too heavy for a lot of people, I thought it was important to show. I hope you like where we go next!

 **reader-reader2** : Thank you for your review! Great to hear you are enjoying the story, and I hope you continue to do so as things unfold. This _is_ a canon-based series, so many of the events will follow canon events, though timing and perspectives will change. As you have probably gleaned from Part I and from the finished portion of Part II, diversions from canon will slowly become more and more frequent and more and more important as the change in Harry's situation affects his development as well as the other characters. I didn't want to do a sudden and complete diversion the way some writers do… it isn't that kind of story; it's a bit more organic. I wanted to explore how the minor changes evolve and alter the course of Harry's story as things move along. In this particular story, because Harry is at Hogwarts so much earlier and we have all of Part I in place as development, there will be more changes from canon than in the first book. That vector will continue to develop as the series moves forward. I won't answer the query on Sirius's innocence just yet – though a few readers have expressed similar thoughts. I don't want to spoil it though :). As to the Talk (another area that readers are highly intrigued by, which is fantastic!)… staying mum on that for now, but I _do_ think Snape would be amusing… to be frank, _any_ bit of information on life's lessons Snape sees fit to impart are highly amusing. I'll keep your thoughts in mind!

 **LordTicky** : Thank you for reviewing again! I'm very happy you liked the memory sequences. We will definitely be seeing more in future… I won't be doing a full chapter again (at least for a little while); but I also won't gloss over the entirety of the rest. Rather, I plan to intersperse them throughout the story. I hope you enjoy it!

 **Wide Eyed and Curious** : Thank you again for your review! I know it was a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, but I promise there are light-hearted moments coming too. We'll definitely be seeing additional memories – though probably not all back to back again for a bit. I hope you enjoyed Chapter 18!

 **Guest** (First guest review for Ch. 17): Thank you for the review! And I apologise for the tears… though, at least, it seems you are in some company this week. I do admit, I _did_ put the dichotomy in this chapter on purpose: I wanted the readers to see the sweeter memories, but the underlying tension of Sirius's very solitary (at this point) struggle is also something I don't want to let fade into the background… and it provided a harsh snap back to reality in this particular instalment. If it makes it at all better, I _did_ think about saving that particular nightmare for a later chapter; but it just fit best in this one. Perhaps I should just blame everything on pregnancy hormones and leave it at that. In any case, I do hope you enjoy the continuation – even if I'm a monster at times! : )

 **Halfblooddemiwizard** : Thank you for the review and support! I'm very glad you are enjoying the story, and again, I _do_ apologise for the tear-jerker of a final flashback in Chapter 17. Hopefully, this one was a bit less emotional for everyone. As for your queries… yes, I can definitely promise we will be delving into runic magic – although that is more of a long-term element than one which will be satisfied in a chapter or two. I wish to do it proper justice. I'm glad you are liking the James/Lily portrayals… they have been fun to write as there is so much unexplored material there, with just hints of their personalities and histories in canon to work with. We will also certainly see more of Harry's gift, though I probably will not do an _entire_ chapter of pure flashback scenes again for a while. They will be more interwoven over the course of the remainder of the book; but I felt it was unlikely Harry would be content with just _one_ memory… I certainly would not have been in his position. And yes, more Harry/Snape/Sirius is definitely coming! This was the first in a long while I wrote _without_ Severus's appearance… and I'm missing him!

 **Psitomer** : Thank you again for your wonderful review! There is no need to apologise for any presidential election dramatics… I am hardly one to blame the innocent. Besides, my mother is originally from New York, so even I can claim some American blood (we also lived there for a short time when I was quite young, and I read for my masters at Columbia University after uni here). In any case, I'm quite fond of the States and am sure everything will work out for the best in the end.

In any case, I'm very glad you enjoyed Chapter 17! I think you are probably right on the self-soothing bit… that is actually a piece I borrowed from my own history; our nanny was always telling my father he couldn't pick us up in the night, or we'd do nothing but scream until we were twenty. And yet… he _always_ came. We turned out alright in the end, although I do think it is a fairly common bit of child-training. Poor Harry certainly would have had to self-soothe at the Dursleys.

Don't worry _just_ yet about Harry's ultimate pairing – we've definitely got a bit of a way to go. And I might explore both options… I enjoy Harry/Ginny, although I greatly disliked her casting and portrayal in the films; she is fierce and (I suspect, anyway) a bit like his mother. I also think there is underlying canon subtext to suggest Harry/Hermione might have been able to make a go of it, particularly in Deathly Hallows (and JKR has definitely commented as such in interviews) – but I enjoy them brother and sister as well. I know with _all_ of my male friends (at least those pre-James, of course), there were certainly 'moments' as you've put it where you start to consider whether you _might_ want something… more, whether that is fleeting or forever. For H/H I think it could work either way, but in this particular retelling of their story I haven't decided just yet. And we will definitely _not_ be moving into some sort of childhood marriage realm. : )

Haha the Talk… it certainly _will_ be a fun scene. I think it differs for many children, but for me, I learned what 'sex' was at about age ten (when my mother was pregnant for the final time – _slightly_ uncomfortable)… and promptly told everyone in my form whose parents hadn't yet had that conversation, to the great chagrin of my own. I then had the much more awkward 'Talk' with my parents in my mid-teens, when I started seriously dating. From my view, Harry probably already knows 'where babies come from' – most likely from other children and maybe pre-Hogwarts. But when it comes time for the 'Talk,' we'll certainly enjoy the awkwardness immensely. Lily and James… still able to embarrass him from beyond the grave; it was just too good an opportunity to pass up (especially Minerva's amusement).

I love exploring so many untold facets of magic – it is difficult, sometimes, to decide what I want to get into in each of these planned books (there will be at least 6, with four to come after this). But I am greatly looking forward to the runic exploration in particular. It would be fascinating to consider non-Western cultures as well, perhaps something to think about in future.

Glad you like the final scene with Sirius… though it was certainly a stark contrast to the lighter tone of the rest of the chapter. I feel we don't really see enough of the First War, so it's exciting – and sad – to get to delve into it a little.

Twins are well so far – fingers crossed! I'm absolutely dying to know what gender they will be… but we've been told that's something we'll find out between 15 and 20 weeks, depending on babies' cooperation. My husband is a surgeon, which is both comforting and maddening at times. He hovers – which is _not_ something I always enjoy… but I think he is even more excited than I am.

I hope you enjoy this chapter!

 **SpringRoll** : Thank you so much for your great review and kind wishes! I'm not so sure about 'perfect'… but I can hardly complain at the moment : ). We're very excited for the madness to come. I must confess to a bit of self-indulgence on the name coincidence as well… the use of 'Jamie' at sweet or terrifying moments is directly adapted from my own habits with my husband.

I'm glad you are enjoying the flashbacks and Pensieve memories, and I'm happy you are feeling this way toward Sirius – that is definitely the intention. It's a heart-wrenching case of what could have been… perhaps even what _should_ have been; but what we all now know can never truly be, at least not in the same sort of sense. Harry has grown up now without Sirius, and life has turned Sirius into a very different person. Part of the excitement of this journey, of course, is discovering if and just how they might make their way back to one another.

Snape… *sigh* another conundrum. But again, I think your feelings on the situation are spot on – exactly how I feel myself, and exactly how I hope readers will also see the relationship. I think 'good terms' is quite a relative concept when it comes to Harry and Severus… and perhaps a changing one. But he fits into the circle in his own grumpy, taciturn, perhaps reluctant way; and I think even Harry can recognise that to some extent. The Sectumsempra bit… I understand the frustration, but I did feel it was necessary to push Severus to a breaking point: for himself and for the other characters. Nobody thinks his intention was to harm Harry, of course, but there is danger in Dark Magic, and – perhaps even more so – in all-consuming revenge. Magic comes at a price. We'll make our way back from it, don't worry.

Also – kudos for picking up on the nod to canon family trees in the naming scene! It was a little digression I was dying to get into : )

I hope you enjoy the continuation!

 **Citrus Sinensis** (Chapters 15, 16, 17): Thank you so much for all your wonderful reviews! As you've caught us up now, I decided to put my response in the usual way this time… : )

Chapter 15: I'm glad you liked the bit with Harry and Snape and the interplay of guilt there! And I'm very happy you enjoyed the flashbacks, drama-filled as they undoubtedly were. Hopefully my own experience with childbirth will _not_ be quite so violent as Lily's (and, for the record, I would _kill_ my James if he left me alone when I was a thousand months pregnant); but, at any rate, it seemed to bring Harry into the world in any other fashion would just be inapposite with the fates. On the note about other fics, I hope you are enjoying some of your finds! The two you've mentioned are quite enjoyable in their own ways.

Chapter 16: I'm glad you've brought up Aberforth, because he's one of my favourite characters to explore. Like Grindelwald and Bill and some of the others we've visited, he is such a wonderful invention of JKR… but there just weren't the pages to explore him more fully in the canon originals. I hope he adds a bit of light-hearted humour to some otherwise heavy chapters. Also happy to hear you enjoyed the conclusion of Harry's dramatic birth!

Chapter 17: Yes, definitely the downside to reading an uncompleted fic is the waiting… but don't worry, I intend to be as speedy as possible with updating. Glad you enjoyed the memory bits. I think the first was my favourite to write overall… but I love each of them for different reasons. Little windows into scenes of the past – and we shall definitely see more in future. And you are the second person to bring up the Talk! Haha, it should be fun – but yes, a little bit longer to wait for that particular diversion.

Enjoy the continuation of the story!


	19. The Scottish Play

**A/N:** Hello again, everyone! I hope that the speedy posting time on this chapter will make up for the delay we suffered before Chapter 18. Luckily, I've had much of this instalment written for a while now, and it did not require too much additional editing.

Still counting down the weeks of pregnancy (we hit 13 yesterday, yay!) … and beginning to put some time in on our list of names. My mother has been staying with me during the day while James is at hospital and I am 'working from home.' The experience has been both helpful and (perhaps in larger part) harrowing. But my mum and my husband seem to be in some sort of appalling agreement not to leave me alone 'in case of emergency.' I promise, there _will_ be an emergency if I have to suffer one more hour of hovering, another 'green smoothie' ('But darling, it's so good for you! And it will keep your vitamin levels up.') or another cup of odd-smelling tea ('Sweetheart, I don't understand why you must always be so difficult. Melinda gave red bush to Jade when she was pregnant, and she says it worked wonders!').

*Sigh*

In any case, that is my rant for today. Review responses for Chapter 18 are at the bottom. Enjoy Chapter 19!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 19: The Scottish Play**

Minerva sent an elf to collect Harry, Ron and Hermione at half past seven the following morning. All three made their way down to the entrance hall promptly, fully dressed and looking excited at the prospect of the day. Severus was a bit later, scowling predictably as he emerged from the dungeon stairwell with a black leather holdall in one hand.

'All set?' Minerva asked, glancing around the little group. The children nodded eagerly, Severus merely rolled his eyes. 'Excellent,' she said, checking her watch. 'Albus has arranged a portkey that will take us directly to the inn. We might as well take it from here, and I can explain the scheme for the rest of the day once you've all had a chance to set your things down.'

She reached a hand into a pocket of her robes, pulling out an ordinary copy of _Transfiguration Today_.

'Now, Harry, Ms Granger, I know you haven't used a portkey before, but the concept is fairly simple. Everyone must be touching the object in order to travel with the group. There is no need to grasp too firmly – a finger should do.'

She waited, while everyone moved in to place a finger or two on the journal. When the group was situated, she explained: 'Most portkeys are activated at a specific time. This one, however, has been spelled to activate with a specific password. Is everyone ready?'

They all nodded again.

'McAllister!' Minerva said firmly. She saw Severus' grimace of recognition, just as the group was swept away from the castle, transported as if by hooks behind their navels.

The portkey deposited them in a comfortable sitting room, furnished in scarlet and deep navy blue. Severus and Minerva alighted squarely on their feet. The children, not unexpectedly, toppled to their knees at once, looking dazed. Minerva bent to assist Hermione off the floor, while Harry and Ron got their own feet under them unsteadily.

'I do apologise,' she said, as Hermione stood once more. 'I should have given a bit more warning, perhaps. The sensation can be unnerving your first time.'

'It's alright, professor,' said Hermione, slightly breathlessly. She looked curiously around the room. 'What inn have we come to?'

'The Red Lion,' a new voice answered, as a witch in sweeping midnight blue robes came into the sitting room. She was tall and elegant, her hair piled on top of her head in a complex twist and her makeup impeccable despite the early morning hour.

'Emmeline,' Minerva greeted with a smile, striding forward to meet her. The witches clasped hands and leaned in to peck each other fondly on the cheek in salutation.

'It is lovely to see you, Minerva,' Emmeline said, stepping back. 'It's been far too long. And Severus!'

She stepped toward the Potions master, who stiffened noticeably as she bestowed a kiss on him as well. 'Charming, as ever.'

Minerva bit her lip to hide her grin. Behind her, she thought Harry gave a muffled snort.

'Emmeline, allow me to introduce our pupils,' she said, indicating the trio with a sweep of her arm. The three children had grouped themselves together in the middle of the room now, watching the adults nervously. 'This is Ronald Weasley, Molly and Arthur's youngest son, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter.'

Emmeline's eyes performed the familiar flick upward to Harry's famous scar, but she otherwise made no effusion on his presence. Minerva was grateful, but unsurprised. It was one of the things she admired most in this particular witch: her ability to keep cool and collected no matter the circumstance. Her talent for level-headedness had kept many alive in the years when Voldemort had been strong.

'This is Emmeline Vance,' she said to the children. 'She has been a friend and colleague of mine since my own days at school. She works in Edinburgh now, and has very kindly allowed us to stay here, at her inn, for the duration of our time in the city.'

'A pleasure to meet you all,' Emmeline said, smiling at the students. 'And I hope you will enjoy your stay in Edinburgh.'

The trio gave their thanks, still looking rather nervous.

'This is a beautiful room, ma'am,' Hermione offered.

'Emmeline is fine, dear,' the witch corrected lightly. 'And I thank you. The house was my family's home for many years, but I converted it to an inn in the late seventies. It seemed frivolous to keep such large quarters on my own.' She clapped her hands, and a young looking House-elf appeared, wearing a navy pillowcase that perfectly matched the furnishings.

'Dorry will take your things upstairs for you,' she offered, nodding to the elf. 'I expect you're all rather peckish.'

'Starving!' Ron said with a grin, as his stomach gave an audible growl. Severus looked disgusted, but Emmeline laughed.

'Well, I've had breakfast laid in the dining room, if you'd like to have something to eat now. I can give you the tour of your rooms and the house afterward.'

She led them through to a sunny dining room, where the delicious smells of a fresh breakfast greeted them all. Ron's eyes were nearly bugging from his face at the sight of the spread, and he hopped eagerly into the first available seat. The others took their places more sedately, but everyone enjoyed the food. Severus, Minerva and Emmeline exchanged pleasantries at one end of the long table, while the trio chattered happily to each other on the other side. At last, they had eaten their fill. Emmeline clapped her hands once over the table, and the dishes vanished to the out-of-sight kitchen.

She led them through the house, pointing out the different day rooms in the downstairs portion and then taking them up a magnificent staircase to the upper floors. At Albus' request, Emmeline had accepted no other boarders for this particular week-end, so the great house was quiet and still apart from their own conversation. Emmeline was the epitome of hostess. She was able to accommodate them all on the first floor of the inn: Severus and Minerva in rooms to the right, the children in rooms to the left. They spent a half hour or so unpacking their holdalls and freshening up a bit from their travels and breakfast, then the little party reconvened in the sitting room to discuss the day.

'The match will begin at five o'clock this evening,' Minerva informed them. 'That gives us nearly a full day to wander the city. We ought to see the castle, it's a traditional holidaymaker's attraction. I would also suggest Mary King's Close. It's closed to the public for Muggles, but there are wizarding tours permitted at noon each day. There is also a wizarding alley in the city, much like Diagon Alley in London. We could take lunch there, and explore the shops a bit in the afternoon. Then, I think, you all ought to rest for an hour or so before the match this evening. It is quite possible it could last late into the night.'

The students agreed immediately, looking eager to get going.

'Before we go, I want each of you to take one of these,' Minerva said. She reached into a pocket of her robes, pulling out three simple, oval-shaped pendants of gold. She handed one to each of the trio.

'Thanks,' said Harry, frowning a bit as he took his own. 'But, er, why do we need necklaces?'

'They are portkeys,' Minerva clarified. She turned to catch Ron's gaze. 'I believe _you_ have some experience with a similar device?'

He nodded, pulling his own over his neck. 'Do these work with a password too, professor?' he asked her.

Minerva nodded. 'Yes,' she said. 'They are keyed to activate when turned thrice over in the palm of the hand. The command to travel is "Emmeline." And, as I'm sure you have guessed, the portkey will transport you back to this very room. They are for use in _emergency_ only. Portkeys are not a toy, and they are not a joke. Should you use this to travel down the stairs tomorrow morning, for instance, I shall be _highly_ displeased. Moreover, the magic on these portkeys is singular and finite. It will only transport you once. So any frivolous use of the pendants may cost you more than a lecture. Do you understand?'

The three children looked wary now, but they nodded their comprehension.

'Very good,' said Minerva, smiling a little. 'Now, let us be off!'

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Severus could not believe this. He was seriously debating poisoning the headmaster if he ever managed to make it back to Hogwarts with his mind intact.

They'd decided to do the castle first, as it was the farthest from Emmeline's. The day was a touch warmer than it might have been at Hogwarts, and Severus grew increasingly hot in the ridiculous Muggle clothing he'd been forced – at Minerva's insistence – to don for the occasion. The Gryffindor brats had glanced very oddly at him when he'd emerged in the black shirt and trousers, and Severus knew they'd been trying hard not to laugh. He detested Muggle clothing, and that which he did own was as unobtrusive as he could make it… but there was no getting round the option this morning. Still, he was itching to pull his robes from their shrunken place in his pocket.

Granger had visited the castle once before as a young child, and refused to stop jabbering about the history for the entire climb up the hill.

'– been some sort of structure on the hill since the Iron Age, and David I built the castle in the 12th century,' she was telling a mildly interested Potter and a thoroughly bored Weasley. 'Queen Mary lived here too; she gave birth to James I at the castle.'

'There should be placards posted in various locations when we reach the fortress,' Severus interrupted her waspishly. 'If you would like to memorise those as well.'

Granger flushed. Both Potter and the previously-daydreaming Weasley glared at him on their friend's behalf.

'Knowledge of Muggle history can come in useful,' Minerva offered, giving Severus her own look of warning before smiling at Granger. 'It is an interest you should pursue, Ms Granger.'

Severus rolled his eyes.

They proceeded with a Muggle tour of the castle, most of which was in ruins now. Severus found his patience wearing thin as Muggles in absurd period dress re-enacted bits of the fortress's history along the way, to the amusement of the brats and Minerva. Thankfully, they managed to finish with the castle in about an hour, and made their way toward Mary King's Close.

'Why's it called Mary King's close?' Potter asked Minerva as they made their way through Old Town. 'Mary was Queen, wasn't she? It doesn't seem to make much sense.'

'The close is not named for Mary, Queen of Scots, you foolish child,' Severus scorned.

'It's not like I had much Scottish history in primary school!' Potter retorted, nettled.

'Mary King is a name, not a title,' Minerva explained patiently. 'She was the daughter of a man who owned several properties in the close in the 17th century.'

'I've read that the Close is supposed to be one of the most haunted places in Britain. Is that true?' Hermione asked keenly.

Minerva smiled. 'It is, and it is not,' she admitted. 'The close is quite old, and dates back to days when wizards and Muggles lived side by side throughout much of Old Town. As such, there are several resident ghosts in the area, though none are particularly violent. Mary King's Close contains the entryway into the wizarding section of town, much like the Leaky Cauldron in London. It is one of the reasons the proposed re-opening of the close to Muggle tourism has met with much objection from wizarding society. The entryway is located through the wall very near to the connection to Writer's Court, so Muggles passing sometimes glimpse a figure in the close, who seems to disappear only moments later through the wall. A strange phenomenon, to the mind unaccustomed to Magic. And then, of course, for centuries this section of town was quite close to Nor Loch, before the loch was filled in. As the city population expanded with the centuries, Nor Loch became quite polluted and stagnant. Biogas escaping from the waters sometimes caused eerie light reflections, which Muggles often mistook for spirit activity. On one occasion, the gas actually caused hallucinations, which turned out to be a result of a careless wizard's disposal in the loch of a noxious Babbling Beverage.'

They made their way into the close, with Minerva directing the children's attention to various portions of interest and historical significance. Severus kept his eyes peeled for trouble in the surrounding street, just in case, and checked his watch frequently as he waited for the hours until luncheon to dissipate.

At long last, they were coming on noon and Minerva suggested the group enter the wizarding part of town. She led them all to the aforementioned brick wall, selecting a combination of stones with her wand. As in London, an archway began to form among the stones, vanishing the remainder to allow them entrance. Minerva led the children through first, and Severus took up the rear.

The alley was bustling on the Friday afternoon, spilling over with holidaymakers and locals. Minerva led them expertly through the winding street, toward a small pub in a corner called 'The Hobbit's Hob.' Potter raised an eyebrow as she indicated the sign.

'I didn't know hobbits were a real thing,' he admitted, as Minerva pushed open the door to chivvy them all inside.

'They are not,' Minerva said with a smile, leading them straight to a booth in the back. 'But the owner of this pub hails from Kings Hearth in Birmingham, where Tolkien lived for a time. He is rather fond of the pun.'

A smiling barmaid appeared a few moments later, and Minerva ordered butterbeer for them all. Severus took his rather ungraciously; he would have much preferred something a bit stronger.

After lunch, they explored some of the shops in the alley. Severus endured the sweet shop and the joke shop with what he considered extraordinary patience, and managed to find a rare volume on Chimera-based poisons in the famous bookshop Granger insisted on dragging them into. They spent a couple of hours in the alley, before Minerva announced they ought to head back for an afternoon rest before the evening match. Severus was grateful – the hot day, Muggle clothes and incessant teenage chatter had worn him near to exhaustion already.

Everyone had a bit of quiet time in their separate chambers, then took tea in the dining room together before making their way toward the pitch. The inn was only a fifteen-minute walk from the stadium, which was situated on a hillside at the outskirts of the city.

'Wow!' Potter said in wonderment, as they rounded a corner through the wards and the stadium at last popped into view. 'I can't believe it's been _right here_ the whole time, and they've managed to keep it from the Muggles!'

'Hogwarts is ten times this size,' Severus pointed out.

'Yes, but we're out in the middle of nowhere,' Potter said. 'Edinburgh is a much more difficult place to conceal something this large.'

'The stadium has been here for centuries, though modernised, of course,' Minerva put in. 'There are Muggle-repelling charms covering every inch of it.'

Severus presented the tickets to a harried-looking witch in an entrance booth, who gave directions for their section. He nodded curtly in thanks, and jerked his head at Minerva and the children to follow.

The stadium was packed with people – most of them British, although Severus heard several German accents as they climbed the staircase. The noise and chaos made him both nervous and irritated, and he clutched the wand in his pocket with an iron grip.

'Just here,' Minerva said, indicating the correct row. Severus allowed the Gryffindors to file in ahead of him, and took up his own seat resignedly.

This was going to be a _long_ match.

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The stadium was brilliant – unlike anything Harry had ever seen before. It was easily three times the size of Hogwarts' quidditch accommodations but just as packed. Most of the wizards were decked out in the white and deep blue of the Scottish national team, waving banners and sending blue sparks up from their wands in the pre-match excitement. The far third of the round stadium, however, was a sea of brightest scarlet as the Austrian supporters made their cheers heard too. Where the two colours met, heckles and good-spirited jeers could be heard even over the general din.

The pitch was lit up with dazzling torches high as the stands, their flames also coordinated to match the national colours of the competing teams. The excitement was so heavy in the air; Harry could almost taste it.

'How long until the match starts?' he asked McGonagall, tearing his eyes from the crowd.

Their own seats were near the centre of the pitch, directly against the rail of their tier about halfway up the stands. The seats in this section divided into little mini-boxes of six apiece, and the additional seat in their box had been left empty. Harry supposed Dumbledore had not wanted any unknown wizards too near them.

'It was scheduled for five o'clock,' Minerva reminded him.

Harry checked his watch – a repaired one he'd nicked from the bin that had once belonged to Dudley. It was already five past.

'They usually kick off about ten minutes late,' Minerva informed him, smiling at his obvious impatience.

Harry nodded, and turned to watch the pitch again.

'Shouldn't the mascots be coming out first though?' asked Ron, frowning.

'Generally speaking, yes,' Minerva admitted. 'But the Austrian mascot is the Krampus, which has been classified by the British Ministry of Magic as a highly dangerous magical creature. They will not allow the team to bring their mascots to matches held in the UK or Ireland, with the exception of the World Cup, should they qualify. As a courtesy, the Scottish team has likewise agreed to forgo the traditional mascot display at this particular match.'

'What is the Scottish mascot?' asked Harry curiously.

'The Brounie,' said Minerva with a grin.

'Brilliant,' said Ron appreciatively.

Harry dearly wished they were seeing them, but he wasn't about to let anything ruin his excitement today. He gratefully took one of the blue scarves Minerva was handing out, wrapping it around his neck as he cheered. The night was not exactly cool enough to warrant the scarf itself… but it was not so hot as to make it uncomfortable either. Snape, who was hanging as far back as possible in their six-seat portioned box, draped his over the back of his chair as though fearful someone might mistake him for a Ravenclaw should he don it.

After a few minutes, all the flames in the stadium dimmed save one, illuminating a high box along the far side of the oval.

'That's the top box,' Minerva informed them, leaning over so that Harry, Ron and Hermione could hear her over the tumult of the crowd. 'The commentator should be announcing the match any moment.'

Sure enough, a portly man in flowing blue robes stepped to the front of the box, holding both hands high in the air to quiet the crowd. The spectators slowly curbed their chants to pay attention.

'Good evening, ladies and gentleman, and welcome to Edinburgh Stadium, home of the Scottish National Quidditch Team!' the man greeted them all, waving to the stands. Though he had to be three hundred feet from them, the man had spelled his voice to project loud and clear across the pitch. There was an instantaneous surge of applause and whistling in response, and the man waited a moment for the crowd to quiet.

'Without further ado, I give you the visiting Austrian National Team! Haider, Hofler, Eberle, Koellerer, Bohm, Grillpazar, aaaaaand _Dorner_!'

The scarlet-clad supporters began to cheer more loudly than ever, waving their banners and shooting streams of red sparks from their wands while each player zoomed onto the pitch as his or her name was announced. The Chasers, Harry saw, were all male, as was the Seeker. But their Beaters and their Keeper were women. This surprised him somewhat; at Hogwarts, it was not unusual to see women on the House teams – with the possible exception of Slytherin – but women were more likely to play at Chaser or Seeker. He supposed it was something to do with the fact that most men had greater physical strength.

Hermione scoffed, as he voiced this opinion aloud. 'There are plenty of strong girls, Harry,' she said crossly, clapping politely with the rest of the Scottish supporters. 'And good Keepers and Beaters are skilled strategists as well, aren't they? I daresay _many_ women would have an edge over men, in that department.'

'Well, _I_ think it's odd,' said Ron, though in an undertone at Harry's ear.

But Harry rather thought Hermione had a point. And, looking at the Austrian Keeper in particular, he could not doubt that she was both strong _and_ savvy. Even now, she was taking the time before kick-off to consider the conditions of the pitch, testing the ground and analysing the angle of the low-hanging sun. Harry saw she wore the captain's arm band on her right sleeve.

The Austrian players completed a lap around the pitch, before coming to rest on one side of the centre line. The commentator cleared his throat again.

'And, ladies and gentlemen, please give a rousing welcome to the Scottish National Team! MacDonald, Douglas, MacLean, Tallach, Bain, Campbell, aaaaaaand _McAllister_!'

Even with the amplifying charm, Harry could only just hear the names as the commentator announced them: so great was the thunderous cheering from the stands. Harry, Ron and Hermione clapped and whistled loudly right along with the rest of them as the players flew over the pitch. Even Snape, who'd stood scowling for the better part of the past half hour, managed to applaud with the lot as the Scottish team was announced.

MacDonald, Douglas and Maclean – the Scottish Chasers – looked as though they could be Weasley siblings. Each had hair like live flames, streaming behind them as they flew in a complicated weave to their places on the pitch. They were all within an inch of each other in height, though Douglas was the only female of the three. Tallach and Bain, the Beaters, were brawny and compact, and Campbell looked _almost_ tall enough to be a Dumbledore. Little Amy McAllister, however, was so slight she was nearly lost amidst her teammates when she finally landed. She had long blonde hair tied down her back in a tight plait, and she looked very young. Harry thought she could only have been out of Hogwarts a year or two. She hadn't been on the national team the previous year… and Harry couldn't remember what club she'd played for. He turned to ask Minerva.

'She's twenty-two, actually,' the professor informed him, eyes twinkling. 'A Ravenclaw. Pity, we could have used her talent on the Gryffindor team. She signed with the Kenmare Kestrels two years ago, and had a brilliant first season. She sat out this past year with spattergroit, but the healers deemed her fit to play at the start of the summer. Hasn't lost a match since.'

'Well, they haven't played England yet, have they?' Ron said loyally. A steely glint appeared in Minerva's eye.

'True enough, Weasley,' she conceded. 'But I do recall the Kestrels trouncing the Cannons 380 to 60 only a fortnight ago.'

Ron's ears went scarlet, but Harry's laughter was drowned by the announcement of the match referee. He quickly sobered up, leaning against the rail to watch the kick-off. The referee was a tall black man in his mid-thirties or so, who was announced by the commentator to be Blake Clendenon. He released the catch on the ball chest with a flourish, and the four balls rose high into the air. Harry caught just the briefest glimpse of the elusive golden snitch before it disappeared into the reddening sky. Then the captains were shaking hands, the referee gave the signal, and the crowd cheered their sides into the air.

This was quidditch on a level _far_ above anything Harry had ever played in at Hogwarts. The fourteen players zoomed so quickly around the stadium, he could hardly make out who was who at the best of times, and he had no idea how the commentator was distinguishing between the Scottish Chasers. As it was, the poor man only had time to shout the surname of the person in possession of the Quaffle – it was passed so quickly from player to player as the team moved down the pitch. The Keepers were so fantastic, however, that even the skill of the Chasers wasn't enough most of the time. It was at least fifteen minutes before Scotland managed its first goal.

'And that's 10-nil to Scotland!' the commentator bellowed, over the tumult of the Scottish cheers and the rise of hisses and boos from the Austrian supporters. 'Excellent shot there from Douglas!'

It wasn't long, however, before Austria had parried the effort, scoring two in a row through Campbell's right hoop.

'He's not covering that post!' Minerva growled. She was clutching at Snape's arm in her anxiety. The sight made Harry grin in spite of his own displeasure… for Snape looked far more disconcerted by the contact than the Austrian goals.

'Minerva, really!' he hissed at her, trying to yank his arm out of her grasp. She did not appear to hear.

'Those Firebolts are unbelievable!' said Ron in awe, watching Bohm careen in out of nowhere to knock a bludger at MacDonald. The Chaser managed to swerve to avoid the hit, but dropped the Quaffle in the effort.

Austria was now 20 points up.

'Firebolt?' Harry repeated, confused. Ron rolled his eyes.

'Harry, were have you _been_ this summer, mate? Didn't you see it in _Quidditch Quarterly_?'

'Er –' Harry hesitated. He actually hadn't read it yet since the end of term. Ron shook his head in disbelief.

'The Firebolt is a brand new broom, just come out a week or two ago. They gave some of their prototypes to a few of the national team members to try it out. It's good for advertising, you know. Looks like Scotland and Austria have both gone in for full orders.'

Harry paid a bit more attention to the mounts after that. Ron was right – the Firebolt _was_ incredible. It explained why these players were moving faster than he'd ever seen anyone play quidditch before.

'And, it looks like Austrian Seeker Stefan Dorner has seen the snitch!' the commentator shouted, as the Seeker in Scarlet robes went zooming off toward the Austrian hoops.

'Not yet!' Ron moaned. 'We're not even half an hour in!'

But Harry saw it too – just above the centre hoop, a glint of gold was sparkling in the summer sun. Amy McAllister went tearing off after Dorner, but she was lagging well behind. And then –

'Oooh, excellent shot by Scottish Beater Tallach!' the commentator said, as Dorner was hit hard by a Bludger. The blow sent the Seeker sideways, careening into McAllister, who had just about caught up. The Scottish cheers for their Beater, however, were turned almost immediately into shouts of horror, as the tiny blonde Seeker was shoved clean off her broom into a free fall.

'Oh Merlin! Oh my God!' Hermione squealed beside Harry, clutching at her face as she bounced on her toes, watching the girl fall.

Tallach and Bain dove at once, just managing to catch her before she hit the ground. Cheers erupted again as they set McAllister back on her waiting broom but, in all the kerfuffle, the Snitch had vanished.

After that early drama, the match proceeded neck and neck for hours. First the Scottish bounced back, then the Austrians were on top again, and back and forth it went until the pitch was so dark, the flaming torches were burned higher and higher to illuminate the players in the sky. Snape disappeared for a time, returning with plates of fried food for everyone. Harry _really_ had to use the loo, but he didn't want to miss it if the match ended while he had ducked out. He chanced a glance at his watch – it was nearly midnight.

Then McAllister dove, so suddenly Harry wondered if she might have fallen from her broom again. Her body was pressed so flat to her Firebolt that her nose touched the handle, arm outstretched in front of her. Harry scanned the pitch below, but he could not see any tell-tale glint of gold. The Austrian Seeker hurried to mimic her, pulling tight to her side.

'She's seen it!' Ron said excitedly, leaning over the rail.

'I don't know…' Harry said doubtfully, as the commentator began to cheer them on. ' _I_ can't see it anywhere.'

'Harry, it's nearly pitch black,' Hermione reminded him through her fingers. 'It'd be a miracle to spot anything at all at this hour.'

The Seekers were nearly to the ground now, still speeding like they'd been shot out of a cannon.

'If they don't watch out, they'll crash!' said Hermione in a high-pitched squeal. She seemed unable to decide whether to keep her eyes squeezed shut.

'I rather think that is the point,' Snape offered drily from behind them.

Harry frowned. And then, as McAllister pulled out of the dive inches from the ground, he understood. The Austrian Seeker, intent on trying to copy his opponent's moves, was unable to recover in time. He did not face-plant into the ground as Harry had feared might happen, but he pulled up a few moments too late, hitting his knees hard on the earth. He slipped off the side of his broom, a bit dazed in the aftermath. Meanwhile, McAllister was flying at play-level once again. Harry saw her eyes darting wildly around in search.

'Ingenious,' Harry said, clapping along with the Scottish supporters. 'She's got ages now.'

'But what if he's hurt?' Hermione said anxiously, watching as Dorman was helped to his broom again by Koellerer. Ron and Harry both shrugged, too intent on watching the continuation of the match to care.

'He's fine,' Minerva assured her. The Seeker took to the air again a moment later, slightly slower than before.

And the diversion was exactly what the Scottish side had needed. Just as Dorman was returning to the air, McAllister began a second dive, on the far side of the pitch. This time, Harry could see the Snitch, hovering at the base of one of the Austrian goal posts.

'Come on!' Ron cheered, as the crowd surged in response to the second dive. Harry cheered too, waving his scarf and whistling as McAllister stretched out her hand. Dorman was frantically racing toward the spot too… but he was miles behind her now.

McAllister's fingers swiped through the air, and the crowd roared its approval as she soared up again, flying over the stands with her fist held high and a triumphant grin on her face.

'And that's the match, folks!' the commentator announced to the applauding crowd. 'A victory for Scotland, 570 to 430.'

The victorious team did a lap of celebration, waving and smiling to the fans. And Harry thought his hands would bruise from the vigour of his clapping.

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'That was brilliant!' Ron said enthusiastically, still waving his Scottish banner as he bounced on his feet forty minutes after the match's conclusion.

'It really was,' Harry agreed with a grin. 'The way that McAllister feinted at the end – genius. I can't wait to try it out!'

'Oh Harry, don't, please.' said Hermione nervously. 'It looked so dangerous!'

Harry saw she still had red marks on her cheeks, where she'd clutched at her face in her anxiety. Ron scoffed, clapping Harry on the back.

'He can do it, Hermione,' he disagreed. 'Harry's the best Seeker we've had in decades.'

'I daresay he can,' Minerva said, smiling fondly at Harry. 'Though I would advise against attempting it should the headmaster be supervising your time on the pitch.'

Harry grinned, imagining the look on Albus' face if Harry pulled a move like that in front of him.

'Whatever Potter's innumerable accomplishments,' said Snape in a sarcastic tone, 'I would rather get out of this mob scene before dawn. Let's move along.'

Minerva shot a disapproving look at the Potions master, but she too chivvied them toward the throng making its way down the stairs.

'I have to pop in the loo first,' Ron said, as they reached the landing at last. 'Is that alright?'

Snape made an impatient noise. 'Can't you wait five minutes until we're back at the inn?' he snapped waspishly at him.

'No,' Ron insisted, jaw set.

'That's fine, Mr Weasley,' Minerva assured him before Snape could retort. 'I shall take Ms Granger in with me, and Professor Snape can accompany you and Harry.' She nodded at Snape as she said the last, and bustled off with Hermione through the crowd toward the opposite wall.

'I shall wait here,' Snape told them, as at last they managed to push their way into sight of the loo. 'I daresay even _you_ can manage not to fall in, Potter,' he said scathingly.

Harry scowled, but he gave Snape a curt nod of agreement, heading into the loo with Ron. Wizards were packed inside the vestibule like sardines, even before the door to the loo itself, and it took them ages to move far enough up the queue to see the cubicles at all. When Harry had finished his business, therefore, he was quite unsurprised to find that Snape had been too impatient with the long delay to continue waiting outside in the crowd.

'Aren't you done yet?' he snapped at Harry, as the latter made to wash his hands. Ron was just exiting his own stall, and he gave Snape a look that perfectly mirrored Harry's feelings as he turned the tap at a basin.

'Come with me, quickly,' Snape said, grabbing tightly onto Harry's upper arm as he made to dry his hands.

'Oi, I need a moment!' Ron protested, still busy at the basin. Snape barely spared him a glance.

'Finish up and meet us outside,' he said curtly. 'Wait at the entrance for me.'

Harry gave Ron a commiserating look, allowing Snape to pull him through the loo and into the vestibule. Snape paused, waiting while a very fat wizard made his way through the inner door to the facilities. There was no longer a queue out the door, much to Harry's relief. When the swinging door had shut behind the wizard, Snape pulled an invisibility cloak from within the folds of his robes.

'Under here, boy,' he said to Harry, shaking it out as he glanced nervously around.

'Where'd you get an invisibility cloak?' asked Harry, surprised. 'You never said you –'

'Do not argue with me!' Snape snapped, his eyes flashing. 'We have to get out of here immediately. It isn't safe.'

'But Ron –' Harry tried to protest.

'McGonagall is taking care of him,' Snape assured him, throwing the cloak over Harry and himself even as he said it. 'They'll meet us outside the stadium. Stay close now.'

Harry was feeling very odd about the entire situation, and increasingly worried. But he allowed Snape to guide him out the vestibule door, and steer him carefully through the crowd and down a stairwell toward the exit. Snape kept a tight hand around his shoulder the entire time, which only increased Harry's sense of unease. Snape had _never_ held onto Harry like this before; except for that horrible time he'd had to carry Harry after what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets. The closeness spoke only of stress and discomfort to Harry. He wished Snape would loosen his grip.

To his surprise, Snape did not stop once they'd reached the bottom of the long staircase to the stadium grounds. Instead, he led Harry across the darkened lawn, away from the bustle of exiting wizards and toward a copse of trees on the edge of the property.

'Where are the others?' Harry asked warily, trying to turn back toward the stadium to watch for them. Snape tightened his grip even further, preventing him from stopping their progress.

'They'll be along shortly,' he promised, prodding Harry to keep him moving. As they reached the dark trees at last, Snape finally removed the cloak. He kept his grip on Harry.

Harry frowned, still trying to peer back at the crowd. 'We shouldn't have left them behind,' he said anxiously, still unable to see Minerva, Ron or Hermione. 'What's so dangerous, sir? Has Sirius Black been spotted again?'

'Don't worry, Harry,' Snape said, squeezing the hand that still held firm to his shoulder. 'They'll be along.' He shook his sleeve back as he said it, freeing his wand from obstruction.

But Harry – far from reassured – stiffened under the man's grip as he turned his head at last from his scan of the crowd.

'What did you call me?' he asked in a whisper. He considered Snape warily. The Potions master scowled.

'Your name, idiot boy,' the man said dismissively. Harry felt his unease rise. He tried to take a nonchalant step back out of reach, but the hand on his shoulder remained ironclad.

'Why did you bring me out here, sir?'

His eyes focused in on the wand in Snape's hand.

The pale, very _unfamiliar_ wand.

'Who _are_ you?' Harry demanded, trying to draw his own wand and break the wizard's hold simultaneously. 'Are you Sirius Black?'

He prepared to scream – his terror mounting. But the man pinned him in a chokehold, cutting off his air supply. Harry scrabbled the strong forearm with his hands, trying desperately to break his hold as black spots began to dance through his vision.

' _I_ ,' the man said in a whisper, pressing Harry tight to his chest, 'Am so much more than Sirius Black could ever be, Harry Potter. Which is _most_ unfortunate for you.'

And Harry's scream died in his throat, as he felt the man twist them in a circle, the pull of apparition spiriting them both away.

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The excitement of the match was still heavy in the crowd, who were growing sloppy with continued enthusiasm and excess of drink. Severus disliked crowds, and he abhorred drunkenness. He snarled as he was buffeted frequently from side to side by lumbering patrons, trying valiantly to keep one eye on the door to the gents. The crowd was slowly emptying from the stadium, and the throngs were obscuring his view.

If only the brats hadn't insisted on using the facilities – they might have avoided this nonsense.

At last, he spotted Weasley's red hair among the crowd. The boy looked around in confusion, then leaned back against the wall of the stadium, just outside the restroom doors. Severus waited almost five minutes, but Potter did not emerge behind him. He grew increasingly annoyed.

'Weasley!' he barked, pushing his way through the maze of tipsy wizards so the boy could see him. 'Enough of this dawdling. Go and get Potter and let us be gone from this place.'

Weasley scowled. 'What are you on about?' he said mulishly. 'He left ahead of me. _You_ tell _me_ where he's got to.'

Severus stared at him for a moment, before fear began to seep into his annoyance. He started closer again in his agitation, and was pushed roughly from behind by a massive wizard making for the way out. Stumbling, he caught Weasley up by the front of the robes, fear bypassing annoyance again and boiling quickly over into anger.

' _Where_ is Potter?' Severus demanded, shaking the Weasley boy roughly by the scruff of the neck.

'I –' the boy looked scared, and still quite confused. 'How would I know? _You_ took him!'

Severus stopped shaking the child, but kept a tight grip on his robes. He studied his wide blue eyes intensely. 'What are you talking about, boy?'

Weasley swallowed, but did not attempt to pull himself free. 'You… you came into the loo,' he said uncertainly. 'You said he had to come with you now. I shouted at you to hold up, but you told me to wait here for you to come back… so I did.'

Severus felt his blood chill.

He _knew_ it had been a bad idea to come. This whole _trip_ had been a mistake. They ought to lock Potter in the Astronomy Tower until the day he turned seventeen.

He released the child, pushing him roughly back. The boy was still frowning at him.

'But…. Don't you remember, sir?' he asked, confused.

'Of _course_ I do not,' Severus snapped impatiently, trying to think. 'It was not I who approached you in that restroom.'

'Not –'

'Shut up, you idiot child! I need to think.'

He racked his brains hurriedly. He couldn't leave Weasley alone… but he could not delay if they hoped to find Potter. They had no idea who had taken him, or where. And if it was Black…

'Severus?' Minerva said, coming out of the ladies with Granger and pushing through the crowd toward them. She looked nervously around. 'Where's Harry?'

'Gone,' said Severus shortly. 'And we need to move quickly. Apparently he went off with –'

'He went off with _him_ , professor!' Weasley shouted hysterically, staring at Severus with deep mistrust. ' _Snape_ came and took him from the loo, and now he's acting like he has no bloody clue what –'

'Enough!' Severus snarled, pulling Weasley away from the growing crowd of onlookers and toward a shadow of the stadium. Minerva followed quickly, dragging Granger by the wrist. 'Have you lost your mind, you idiot child? You cannot shout about this in front of a sea of unknown wizards. The situation is perilous enough as it is.'

'You _caused_ the situation!' Weasley insisted, stamping a foot in frustration. 'What have you done with him, eh? Gone and dropped him off with some Death Eater pals?'

Severus felt his vision redden in fury, as he made a serious effort to keep himself from striking the boy.

'Weasley, that's enough!' said Minerva sharply, throwing a silencing charm up around them and placing a restraining hand on Severus' arm. Severus could feel the tremble in her grip. 'Severus, what on earth –'

'Someone apparently impersonating my appearance has taken the brat,' Severus summarised in a rush. 'If we move quickly, we might yet be able to track them. Or if the boy shows a bit more intelligence than I would feel comfortable banking on, he might have used the portkey he's been given… there is no apparition permitted inside the stadium.'

Minerva clapped a hand to her mouth in horror, while Granger burst immediately into tears. Weasley was biting his lip, still glaring mistrustfully at Severus.

'Minerva,' Severus said tersely. 'Take the children back to the inn. I shall start the search for Potter.'

'I'm not leaving!' she shrieked. 'And someone needs to send word to Albus… this is _exactly_ the sort of thing he was worried about. _How_ could you have left them alone in there, Severus?'

Severus bristled at once. 'I never left the door!' he said indignantly. 'I hardly thought it necessary to accompany them _into_ the restroom!'

'It was _you_ who took him!' Weasley insisted again, sounding even more hysterical.

Snape rolled his eyes. 'This is a pointless debate,' he said through gritted teeth. 'And we are wasting valuable time. Minerva – take the children back immediately.'

'I'm not –'

'Take them back,' Severus repeated. 'And see to it that Emmeline keeps a watch on them. We don't need more casualties tonight. You can join me after you've –'

But his speech was interrupted, as a brilliant silver bear burst into view in front of them. Both the children jumped in alarm at the sight, but Severus and Minerva leaned quickly toward it to hear over the tumult of the crowd.

'Harry is here,' the patronus spoke in Emmeline's voice. 'You should return immediately.'

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 18:**

 **Reader of Harry** : Thank you for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. Thank you for the heads up on the typo – just a late night slip, but I've corrected it and appreciate your bringing it to my attention. And name suggestions are welcome, haha, _except_ if you are secretly my mother-in-law posting in disguise. Claire is actually on our list of possibilities at the moment, though I must admit we are having a far greater challenge narrowing down our list of possible girls' names than boys. Cason is not a name I've heard before, but it is lovely. They'll definitely be the same gender, as the OB is able to tell from the scan that they are identical twins. We also have a tradition (or rather, James's family has a tradition) of choosing three names for each child… which in my opinion makes children sound a bit like a law firm, but I can hardly break the habit. So we have a great deal of choices to make! We should be able to find out between 15 and 20 weeks what gender they will be, depending on babies' positioning during the scan. I can't wait to find out!

 **Kimberly** : Thank you for your review! It's so lovely to hear from new readers, and I am happy you are enjoying the story and characterisations. I hope the update time was not too taxing!

 **AECM** : Thank you for reviewing! Obviously, you've hit the nail on the head, so to speak… but this is Harry, excursions are hardly ever without incident :)

 **Blue Luver5000** : Thank you for your review! Happy you enjoyed Chapter 18 and hope you liked the way that quidditch played out.

 **Guest** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm very glad you are enjoying the story thus far, and I hope this update time was not too much of a wait!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Very glad you are continuing to enjoy the story, and thank you for reviewing! I am quite excited to share the quidditch holiday and its ensuing drama… I hope you found it entertaining as well! Severus being forced to tag along was a temptation too delicious to ignore, and we haven't seen much of him for a few chapters now. It was exciting to get into his head again. I appreciate your understanding as well; I _am_ working hard on the story, but sadly life sometimes gets in the way of speedy updates when you're essentially an incubator :). Hopefully, things will calm down a bit in the next few weeks.

 **LordTicky** : Thank you again for your review! And an excellent question – one which has long intrigued me (and a big reason I chose to bring this up in the chapter). In canon, the date of the Potters' deaths is not mentioned until Harry visits their graves in Godric's Hollow. No other mention of the precise date is given, though there is a reference to it being in the week before Guy Fawkes night in PS. I always found it odd that, if Harry _had_ known the date growing up, he never made reference to it during his Hogwarts years (and odd in general, because what child would not ask to know when his parents had been killed?). That's why I decided to proceed under the premise addressed in Chapter 18. I do hope it made sense!

 **AlsoKnownAsMatt** : Thank you for your review! As I've said – this is a canon-based story which will evolve slowly in its own directions, so there will of course be some changes in both character development and events as fits the changing circumstances. I think I've addressed this in responses to some other reviewers, but essentially I am working on a sort of vector with regard to canon. That being said, I do not intend to alter the nature of either Harry or Snape to a point which would be unbelievable in the universe I am developing. Your concerns are noted… but I don't think my thoughts on the characters are aligned quite as precisely with what you have conjectured. For one, my own thoughts are generally not reflected in the characters' internal debates… I try to keep those specific to how the described character is feeling, not how I see the situation. And I certainly do not intend this as a 'Snape as Harry's mentor'-type story. Nor, do I believe, Snape would be particularly happy with that outcome. I do think you are partially right on Snape's motivations for fighting for the light… certainly Lily's death is his motivation for switching sides, and his primary reason for continuing to work for Albus. However, I think it has become more complex over the intervening years. We haven't really got into the scar factor much (outside some of Harry's nightmares)… but I think you'll see the way that plays out will make sense when the time comes. But 'forcing' their interactions is a choice I have made for several reasons… for one, it fits with Dumbledore's character, for another, it is necessary given Harry's situation at the castle, and certainly it falls within the terms of his protection. I don't believe it has greatly altered his behaviour at this point – at least not out of what I was hoping for in crafting this story; but it makes the dynamic between him and Harry more complex than in canon. A fairly natural consequence to Harry's living at the castle, which is the main point of diversion that began the story. As to Harry's future romantic life… I know several readers have expressed _very_ strong opinions on different pairings for him, and concerns about others. I will say, I do not exactly _dislike_ Harry and Ginny… but nor do I think it was necessarily the most logical choice of direction in the canon books. I do like Harry and Hermione, but again, that raises a whole new set of complications. I have a pretty firm idea of where I will end up with the decision, but we won't be there for a while. I do hope you enjoy the way it plays out!

 **Imortalglee** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm very glad you liked Chapter 18 so much, and hope Chapter 19 lived up to expectations! I'm also very happy to hear you've liked the portrayal of Albus here; evil Albus fics are definitely not my favourite storyline… and certainly not where I wanted to go. It's nice that there are readers out there still interested in a good Dumbledore! Fingers crossed that everything goes a little more smoothly with babies in future… but sadly I think my mother is in it for the marathon.

 **Psitomer** : Thank you again for your review! It's great to hear you liked the chapter! And yes… I _do_ rather think Snape feels he's been given Mary Poppins duties a bit this summer, much to his undeniable horror. You've made me laugh with your rant about the movie characterisations; but I can hardly disagree. The movie Ginny rather ruined the romance side of things for me. And good luck with your second 'Talk,' when it comes… my father was certainly horrified at the prospect of my dating as well :). So, to Harry… yes, he's definitely become a bit more perceptive, having spent more individual time with both Dumbledore and Snape at this point. And he doesn't see things quite as black-and-white (although, in my opinion, that was something book-Harry struggles to grasp all the way into DH). Certainly he sees nuances and differences Ron, as yet, cannot. That plays out a bit more in this chapter, as you have probably seen. I'd definitely like to incorporate some non-European magic; I think the storyline could include at least some reference to other realms of possibility. I'll think on how to do it properly. As for James… he's actually not _generally_ the smothering type (much to my preference). However, he turns a bit that way when there's something medically going on, which I suppose is only natural for him. But yes, it can certainly get tiring at times. I _am_ excited to see him with the babies though… probably more excited for that than even for the moment I can finally hold them myself.

In any case, I hope you enjoy Chapter 19!


	20. Hell is Murky

**A/N:** Hello again, loves! This will be my third posting in a week… but likely the last before next. I couldn't leave you all with the cliff-hanger! I will try to keep the updates as speedy as I can make them. One more chapter of summer, I believe, and then Chapter 22 should start us at term at last.

Review responses for Chapter 19 are at the bottom. I can't tell you how pleased I was at the wonderful response, and really wish to thank everyone who read and reviewed!

Enjoy Chapter 20!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 20: Hell is Murky**

Harry landed on his feet – a first for his apparition experiences – though he suspected that was due only to the fact that his mysterious captor still had him in a tight chokehold. He could barely breathe for the man's iron grip.

' _Petrificus Totalus_ ,' the man muttered, releasing his hold on Harry at last.

To his great relief, Harry felt glorious air rush into his lungs before he could pass out; but he fell to the floor all the same as his legs snapped firmly together and his arms were pinned to his sides. His head cracked hard against the floor – and it occurred to him that what he had taken to be an earthen underground cavern was actually built of very dirty stone.

The strange man stood over him, still bearing Snape's appearance. But the leer he wore as he gazed down at Harry was darker than even Snape had ever bestowed upon him. The sight would have made him shiver, if he weren't already paralysed.

'Harry Potter,' the man said with relish, shaking his head as he fingered the pale wand. 'You cannot know how much I have longed for this day; the chance to meet you… to take my vengeance.'

Harry felt his blood chill: the words were quite familiar. He could hear them echo through the weeks; as if he were still facing Riddle in the Chamber. He struggled for speech.

'Ah, tongue tied, it seems,' the man said with false concern, crouching down toward him. 'Now, that won't do. I want to hear you _beg_ for mercy, Harry Potter. I want to watch you suffer as you die at my feet.'

He muttered a low incantation, and Harry felt the enchantment lift from his head and neck.

'Who _are_ you?' Harry repeated. His voice was hoarse; from fear, or silent screams, he wasn't sure. 'Are you Voldemort?'

' _Crucio_!' the man cried, directing his wand at Harry with a furious swipe.

The jet of light hit him squarely in the chest, and Harry screamed as he never had before in his life. Violent waves of white hot pain were coursing through him, until he thought his innards were trying to claw their way out through his skin. The man held the torturous curse for several long seconds, or minutes, or perhaps hours; Harry could no longer tell. All he knew was agony; all he could see was red.

At last, the spell was ended. Harry gasped for breath, body still forcibly restrained. He turned his head to spit a mouthful of blood onto the dirty floor, and felt a new mouthful pool almost immediately. He could still feel the ghosts of the knives.

'Do not speak the Dark Lord's name with your filthy, unworthy lips,' the man snarled, kicking Harry's head straight again with the toe of his boot.

Harry longed to groan, but he did not want to give the man the satisfaction. He turned the other way to spit again.

'Who _are_ you?' Harry repeated once more, when he'd cleared his airway.

' _I_ am the Dark Lord's last true servant; the last of us freed and in search of him. And I have wanted you, Harry Potter, for years. With you vanquished, the Dark Lord will return to power.'

'He's finished,' Harry spat, hot head pushing sense beyond reason. 'I've seen him, you know; he's a wreck, a shadow. And he'll never be powerful again.'

'You know nothing,' the man countered, leering unpleasantly. 'There are always ways to return… always. Only Death can ruin a man. And the Dark Lord, Harry Potter, has always been much, _much_ more than a man.'

'There are fates much worse than death,' Harry countered, quoting Albus.

He wasn't sure whether he was doing it to goad the man, or whether he was trying to find comfort in the idea himself. Dumbledore, after all, could not help him here. Harry didn't even know where 'here' _was_ , come to think of it. There was no Sorting Hat; no Fawkes; no headmaster and no Minerva. Nobody to rescue him; nobody to fight for him; nobody to take a fatal curse for him.

There was just Harry. And all he had was a wand he could not reach and –

 _And a portkey_.

'There is nothing worse than Death, you foolish child,' the man snapped, sounding much more like Snape than he had at any other point tonight.

'That's what you think,' Harry retorted. He was speaking at random now: trying to delay the final blow. He knew he had to keep the man talking; buy himself some time, if he was ever going to be able to get to that portkey. He concentrated harder than he ever had done on the real Snape's instruction; trying to force his magical core into action.

 _Finite_. _Finite. Finite._

' _Crucio_!' the man cried again, and Harry's concentration was broken as he was flung into the air, the agonising pain gripping him once more. He thought his throat would tear from the screams, but he could not seem to stop them.

 _The Portkey!_ he tried to tell himself. _Concentrate!_

But he could not do it. The pain was all-consuming… it would kill him…

The spell lifted again, and Harry was dropped to the stones. He sicked up at once, nearly choking as he tried to cough it out of his throat while only able to move from the neck up. The man laughed as Harry's vision blackened; a high, cold laugh that nearly matched in pitch the laughter of Voldemort himself.

The laughter that Harry heard every time he came too near a Dementor…

The laughter of triumph, as Voldemort cut down his mother.

His sweet, funny, beautiful mother… who had died so that Harry could live.

Who had died while Voldemort laughed.

A fierce surge of hatred coursed through him. And, miraculously, the fire of it burned the paralysing enchantment away.

Harry popped up from the ground as if he'd been electrified, the eerie surge of raw magic expanding out from him as though he'd caused some sort of seismic shift. The horrible unknown man was thrown backward with the force of it, his pale wand slipping from his grip as he smacked the opposite wall.

Vaguely, Harry registered that the man was starting to shrink slightly; his hair lightening from the deep black of Snape's greasy mane.

But the man was also lunging for the fallen wand; and Harry could feel his own strength leaving him.

He fumbled at his neck for the pendant chain, turning the oval over in his bloody, shaking hand.

' _Emmeline_ ,' he gasped out, just as the man got hold of the wand again, shouting a curse and slashing his wand at Harry.

A jet of bright green light came speeding toward him, a sound like the rushing of a train filling his ears…

But the portkey had activated, and Harry was pulled away.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Minerva and Severus each took one child, and one portkey. Both traveling pairs landed in Emmeline's sitting room seconds after her patronus had vanished.

Minerva dropped her grip on the pendant at once, frantic with fear as she gazed around the room. The house was still and silent. The low candles burning in sconces and on the tables gave the elegant room an inviting aura of tranquillity that could not have been more inapposite with the pounding of Minerva's heart.

Nor with the puddle of fresh, scarlet blood shining on the handsome carpet.

'Harry?' Minerva called, darting toward the foyer. 'Emmeline?'

The little elf from the morning, Dorry, popped up before her, halting Minerva and the rest of the group, who had trailed her into the hall.

'Mistress is bringing the boy upstairs,' the elf informed her solemnly. 'To his room.'

'Thank you,' Minerva said hurriedly, already climbing. She sprinted the length of the corridor to the chamber that Harry had been assigned. The door was already ajar.

'Harry, thank Merlin,' she said, rushing inside with Severus and the children at her heels.

Harry was lying on the bed, looking utterly exhausted and covered in blood and grime, but he smiled as he caught sight of them. Emmeline was busy at his head. A basin of water and a bloodstained flannel were set upon the nightstand.

'Harry!' Hermione cried, hurrying for the bed. Minerva lunged to grab her by the arm, afraid she might jostle whatever Emmeline was attempting.

'It's alright,' said Emmeline with a reassuring smile for the girl as she stepped back. 'I'm finished with that, for the moment.'

Minerva relaxed her hold, and Hermione resumed her dash for the bed. Ron followed with slightly more reserve, his jaw set as he surveyed all the blood. Minerva moved forward as well, taking in the child's state for herself.

'Are you alright?' she asked at once. She studied his face closely, cupping his cheek with a careful hand.

'I'm f–' Harry began, but he cut himself off at her gaze. 'I've been better,' he admitted hoarsely.

'What happened, mate?' asked Ron in a low voice from the opposite side of the bed. 'Who was the bloke who took you? What did he _do_ to you?' he added nervously. Beside him, Hermione gave a stifled sob as she clutched Harry's hand between both her own.

'I don't know who he was,' said Harry tiredly. 'He never really said. I thought –' he paused, shooting a wary glance at Severus. The Potions master was standing just inside the door with his arms crossed as he glowered at the bed. 'I thought it was you, sir,' Harry admitted, looking at Severus.

'I am aware,' Severus said shortly. 'Obviously, you surmised after your capture that it was not.'

'No,' Harry disagreed. 'I worked that out before we left the stadium grounds. He was good; good enough to trick me into leaving the stadium with him. But then he called me "Harry," and his wand wasn't right. It was pale, and shorter than yours.'

Severus looked surprised at the deduction, but he schooled his face almost at once. 'Very well,' he said tightly. 'But why did you not use the portkey immediately? You were gone at least thirty minutes, before Emmeline sent word.'

'He had a grip on me,' Harry explained, shaking a little at the recollection. 'He got me round the neck, so I couldn't call for help. I could barely breathe. Then he apparated us both away, to some odd room of dirty stone. I think it might have been a basement, or a dungeon. There weren't any windows.'

He tried to sit up a bit in the bed but gave up the effort with a gasp. Minerva eased him back down again, hovering as he caught his breath.

'Did you run a diagnostic?' she asked Emmeline anxiously, turning from Harry's face for the first time since they'd entered the bedchamber.

'I did,' Emmeline assured her in her calmest voice. 'Why don't you leave Harry with his friends for just a moment –'

'I don't think –' Minerva began with a frown.

'And we can talk with Severus in the corridor,' Emmeline finished with a significant look.

'Alright,' Minerva agreed reluctantly. She turned to Harry again, who seemed almost on the edge of sleep. 'Will you be alright for a minute, Harry?' she asked him.

He nodded in a vague sort of way, and Minerva slipped out after Emmeline and Severus.

'What is it?' she asked, when she'd shut the door quietly behind her. 'Is he badly injured?'

'Not exactly,' said Emmeline carefully. 'He was nearly unconscious when he got here; but the injuries were cuts and bruises mainly, all of which I have already attended to save for the clean-up. But there were two slightly more concerning items I noted in the diagnostic.'

'Which were?' Minerva pressed impatiently.

'Some pretty significant magical exhaustion, for one.'

'Not entirely unexpected,' said Severus carelessly. 'He has shown a proclivity for wandless magic; but you know how that sort of spellwork can affect underage magicians. No doubt he pushed himself too far; this would not be the first time. The other?'

Emmeline passed over the slip of parchment wordlessly. Severus took it, the crease between his eyebrows deepening as he scanned it through.

'Did you ask him how long?' he asked with a snarl, crumpling the parchment as he finished.

'How long what, Severus?' Minerva put in irritably.

'Potter was held under the Cruciatus Curse,' the Potions master said shortly. 'For some time, by the looks of it.'

Minerva clapped a hand to her mouth in horror. 'But, Severus!' she squealed, grasping his arm quite as tightly as she had done at the match so many lifetimes ago. 'His mind –'

'Is obviously fine,' Severus pointed out, wrenching his arm away. 'I think you need worry only about physical damage at this stage.'

'I gave him an invigoration draught for the magical drain,' Emmeline informed them. 'And he's had pain reliever and a blood replenishing potion. He should have a potion against the after-effects of the curse… but it isn't one I keep on hand. Not in years, at least.'

'Perhaps we should call in a healer,' Minerva said, wringing her hands worriedly. 'But I don't want him at St Mungo's after what's happened tonight, and with Albus gone…'

'What about Poppy?' Emmeline offered. But Minerva shook her head.

'In Majorca until next Tuesday,' she said. 'And it's so late…'

Severus rolled his eyes. 'I rather think we can make do,' he said stiffly. 'I do not carry a potion for Cruciatus on me, but I keep some prepared in my personal stores out of habit. It should be within date. Perhaps your elf,' he turned his gaze to Emmeline, 'Would consent to retrieve it?'

Emmeline clapped her hands once, and the little elf appeared. Severus entrusted the task, and the creature popped instantaneously away again. Severus turned back to Minerva.

'We need the whole story,' he told her firmly.

'Severus, Harry needs rest,' she protested. 'It can keep until morning, I think.'

'We need to know how long the curse was held. And _I_ need to know what Potter did to tax his magical core into exhaustion. And if the man who took him comes to the inn in the night?' he challenged. 'If he's deduced where Potter is being housed? What then, Minerva?'

She sighed, pushing the door ajar. The three children were huddled on the bed. Harry was still awake, though clearly very drowsy. Minerva pulled over an armchair, leaning down toward the child.

'I was so worried tonight,' she said gently, brushing back his hair. He smiled a little, though he still looked distressed. 'I need you to tell us, Harry, what happened when you arrived in the place with the stone.'

She wondered fleetingly if she ought to send the other students from the room. But she knew it was likely pointless; Harry would tell them anyway.

He shivered, taking a deep breath to begin.

'I don't know where it was he took me,' he said. 'It might have been in the city, or it might have been miles away. When we landed, he put _petrificus totalus_ on me, so I couldn't move. Then he lifted it from just my head and neck so that…' He swallowed thickly. 'So that he could hear me scream.'

Minerva felt a chill creep down her spine. Hermione gave another muffled sob, and Ron swore loudly. She let Severus deal with the reprimand – she couldn't take her own eyes from Harry's face.

'I don't remember all of the details now,' Harry admitted. 'Everything happened so fast. We were arguing. He hit me with some sort of curse… an awful curse. It was like every inch of me was being tortured,' he shivered again, voice breaking. Minerva smoothed his hair.

'For how long?' Severus asked clinically.

Harry frowned. 'How long was I there?' he asked. 'I don't know – you probably have a better idea of the time that passed than I –'

'You misunderstand me,' Severus interrupted. 'For how long were you held under the Cruciatus Curse?'

'The _what_?!' Ron spat, looking horrified as he ogled Harry. 'You – you weren't, mate, were you?' he asked urgently. 'Dad's told me about that one. It was really popular when You Know Who was around. It's supposed to be the worst pain imaginable. And it can drive wizards mad, if they get held under too –'

'Yes, thank you, Weasley,' Minerva cut across him as she watched Harry's colour fading at every word.

'Don't worry, Ron,' said Harry in a rasp. 'I'm fine.'

'Clearly,' Severus said sarcastically. 'How long, Potter?'

Harry shrugged. 'I don't really know,' he admitted. 'It was hard to tell. He did it twice though.'

Severus frowned, but he didn't interrupt again. Minerva tried not to let her anxiety show; there was no point, at least until the elf returned with the potion.

'Anyway,' Harry continued, 'He told me he wanted to hear me suffer, and then watch me die. After the second curse, he just stood there and laughed. He sounded just like Voldemort –' everyone twitched and Ron hissed ' _Don't say the name!_ ' – 'When he was murdering my family,' Harry finished. 'It made me so furious, I was finally able to remember how to do what you've been teaching me, sir,' he said, catching Snape's eye again. 'Some sort of magic came; not a spell, exactly. I hadn't really come up with one. But I wanted to move, and I wanted to get away from him. I felt odd: like a ripple or something was coming out of me. But he got blasted back by it and I was able to stand. Then I used the portkey, just as he tried to curse me with something else. I ended up here, and Emmeline brought me upstairs and sort of patched me up, and then you lot arrived back.'

'What do you mean, what Professor Snape's been teaching you, Harry?' asked Hermione curiously.

'Wandless magic,' Harry told her. 'Ever since I got back.'

She looked impressed, and slightly worried. 'But, Harry, that's _very_ advanced magic. And it's dangerous! You might have –'

'This is not information to be shared outside this room, Ms Granger,' Minerva told her firmly.

'I – of, of course, professor,' the girl said. She still looked nervous. Beside her, Ron was glaring at the Potions master with naked mistrust. But they were all saved further explanation by the appearance of Dorry, carrying two phials of bright green potion.

Severus thanked the elf, unburdening her hands, and she vanished again with a crack. He lifted one of the phials to eye-level, turning it to scrutinise the brew. Apparently satisfied, he handed both to Minerva. She uncorked the first.

'Oh, I _really_ don't need anything else, Minerva,' Harry said entreatingly.

Minerva smiled, but held the phial out. 'This is a specific potion against the effects of the curse you were describing,' she told him. 'It will take away any residual pain.'

'I've already had pain reliever,' he said. 'Do I really need something else as well?'

'No,' said Severus curtly. 'The Cruciatus Curse very rarely causes lasting physical damage, and almost never on one's first exposure. So, if you would rather suffer the long and painful recovery for days on end, you are perfectly free to do so.'

Harry scowled, and Minerva fixed the Potions master with an exasperated glare. But the boy took the phial anyway, draining it with a martyred expression. He seemed surprised as he swallowed.

'I can't taste anything,' he noted happily, accepting the second phial with much more grace.

'A numbing agent that works quickly on the taste buds,' Severus informed him. 'Concentrated –'

'Capsaicin?' Hermione guessed, looking interested as Harry knocked the second phial back.

Severus' eyes flashed dangerously at the interruption, but he gave a reluctant nod.

'How fascinating,' she said, taking the empty phial from Harry and sniffing at the glass. 'Yes, you can smell a bit of the lingering chili powder.'

Harry and Ron caught each other's eye, grinning indulgently. Even Minerva smiled a bit.

'You never discovered your captor's identity?' she asked gently, turning back to Harry.

Harry shook his head. 'He wouldn't tell me who he was, just that he was Lord Voldemort's last true servant.'

'Black,' Minerva guessed, sharing a fierce look with Severus.

'No,' Harry disagreed. His voice was fading somewhat from all the talking. 'It wasn't him… I don't know _who_ it was, but it wasn't Black.'

'You can't be sure, Harry,' Minerva said gently. 'If he was disguised as –'

'It started to fade,' Harry told them. 'I think it was Polyjuice Potion, or something quite similar. Just as I used the Portkey, he was changing back. His hair was lightening by degrees, and he was shrinking.' He turned his eyes to consider Severus. 'You and Black were almost the same height,' he noted, 'He was maybe a bit taller. And Black's hair was definitely as dark as yours.'

Severus frowned, his gaze boring into Harry's for a moment. Then he turned to Minerva.

'We need to know more,' he told her carefully.

'I don't know what else I can tell you,' Harry said. But Severus ignored him.

'We need to _retrieve_ the memory,' he clarified, eyes still pinned with hers.

For the briefest of heartbeats, Minerva did not know what Severus meant by it.

Then realisation hit her, and she felt a hot swell of fury and fear.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'No,' said Minerva firmly, her eyes flashing. 'Absolutely _not_ , Severus. I forbid it!'

Severus scowled. 'It is not ideal,' he allowed. 'But it is our best option, and you know it. Potter should not be moved – by Portkey or otherwise – until the morning if it can be avoided. Even were we to decide to do so, Albus has the Pensieve with him in Prague: he mentioned more than once that he intended to bring it with him in order to allow the Brazilian delegation to share news of the Amazon discoveries last year.'

'What exactly –' Granger began to ask, but Severus quelled the query with a glare.

'Albus will need to be told immediately,' Minerva pointed out.

'I agree,' said Severus. 'But Potter is not in any imminent danger. Not anymore. There would be little point in dragging him home from the conference at this stage, and no possibility of obtaining the Pensieve without him. I would rather have _all_ the facts, Minerva, before we contact the headmaster.'

Minerva was still frowning, but Severus could see he was winning the argument.

'I am not comfortable using Legilimency on a child of thirteen,' she said anxiously. 'Especially on Harry.'

'Legilimency?' Granger repeated, her own eyes widening in fear. 'You want to _legilimise_ Harry?'

Severus rolled his eyes. 'I do not _want_ to,' he contradicted. 'I _must_.'

'What the bloody hell is "Legilimency"?' Weasley asked mistrustfully. 'I don't like the sound of it.'

'Pipe down, Weasley,' Severus snapped. 'Before you lower the intelligence of the entire room. And mind your tongue, unless you'd like me to mind it for you.'

'Severus,' Minerva said in exasperation.

'It's mind magic, Ron,' Granger was explaining. 'Professor Snape wants to go into Harry's mind and see the memory for himself.'

Weasley looked nauseated. 'That's mental,' he said to Severus. 'You can't let him, professor!' he added, turning a pleading face to his Head of House.

'No,' said Potter softly from the bed, before Minerva could reply. 'Please don't, sir, I had such a headache the last time you –'

'The _last_ time?!' Minerva repeated, her voice so shrill Severus was mildly surprised the windows had not cracked. 'What do you mean the last time? You have done this _before_ , Severus?'

She still had her wand out, and Severus was momentarily afraid she would hex him.

'You _know_ that performing Legilimency on students is strictly forbidden, Severus Snape!' she screeched. 'You could have seriously damaged his –'

'Relax, woman, he's fine,' Severus snapped impatiently. 'He _asked_ me to help him retrieve a memory on the previous occasion; I was very clear about what that would entail.'

He held his tongue on the comment he longed to make regarding Potter's general psyche, in the interest of succeeding in his greater point. Potter looked like he might argue with Severus' glossed-over description of their last foray into Legilimency, but he kept quiet when Severus' eyes met his. It was difficult to tell whether the boy or Minerva were breathing more heavily.

'This is the only reasonable alternative, Minerva,' Severus emphasised. 'And we are running out of time.'

Minerva looked from Potter to the professor, doubt and anxiety plain on her face. 'V-very well,' she said at last, already seeming to regret the assent. 'But you will retrieve _only_ the information relevant to tonight, Severus. And for Merlin's sake, please be careful.'

Severus nodded curtly, repositioning himself so he was seated on the edge of Potter's bed. He would have to do this a little differently this time; would have to proceed more gently.

'Look at me, Potter,' he said.

Reluctantly, the boy raised his eyes so they were locked with Severus'.

'I don't want it to hurt, sir,' he said quietly. Severus shook his head.

'If you listen very carefully to everything I tell you, it will not,' he promised. 'Clear your mind of everything, as you do before sleep. Focus on your chosen image for meditation, and let it relax your thoughts. You may close your eyes for this part, if you wish.'

Potter kept them open, and Severus could see him struggling with the instruction. He refrained from snapping in temper with great difficulty.

'Potter,' he said instead, in the gentlest voice he could muster. 'This will not work unless you trust me.'

'That's a bit hard to do, sir,' said Potter mulishly, 'Seeing as I _thought_ I was trusting you tonight in the stadium… and then it turned out to be some nutter instead.'

Severus frowned. 'Understandable,' he said stiffly. 'But you must try, all the same.'

'Couldn't Minerva do it?' Potter whinged.

Severus was fast losing his grip on patience.

'No, Harry,' Minerva said gently, laying a hand on his arm. 'I am not nearly as studied in the mind arts as Professor Snape.'

Potter sighed, locking eyes with Snape once more.

'Don't go anywhere else in there,' he said darkly, but he shut his eyes at last.

'Good,' said Severus, biting down his retort again and trying to keep his own voice calm. 'Have you brought your meditation image to the front of your mind?'

'Yes,' Potter said, his breathing levelling out.

'Good,' Severus repeated. 'Focus on it; allow your mind to clear. I shall give you a few minutes to do so.'

They all sat in silence, Severus keeping an eye on his watch. Potter's breaths continued at a smooth, even rate, slowing further and further as the time passed. Severus stopped at three minutes: he did not want Potter asleep.

'Alright, Potter,' he continued, when the allotted time had passed. 'Now, I want you to slowly allow the image to change. In your mind's eye, you need to bring yourself back to the start of what happened tonight, to the moment you thought you met me, in the loo. Focus only on that moment, on that particular time. And, when you are ready, open your eyes and look at me.'

For a few seconds, Potter's eyes remained closed, a frown line appearing between his brows as he tried to follow Severus' direction. And then, at last, he opened them.

Severus locked his own gaze with the emerald eyes he knew so well.

' _Legilimens_ ' he said softly, pointing his wand at Potter's chest.

And he fell into their depths.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'I still think it was Snape,' Ron said bitterly, a couple of hours later.

Snape had finished his invasion of Harry's mind hardly any better-informed than before it, as Harry had suspected would be the case. Then Minerva had insisted they all go to bed so they could leave on the morrow, and Snape had driven the others from the room with a glower before turning in himself for the night. Harry felt so full of potions and elixirs that he thought he might burst; but at least the last dose had eased some of the lingering ache in his muscles, and quelled the tremors in his limbs. Despite the exhaustion that weighed on him like an anvil, he found he was too anxious for sleep.

It had taken all of five minutes for Ron and Hermione to be sure the professors had gone to bed, before they'd snuck back in to theorise with Harry. He was glad they'd come. He could think of nothing else anyway.

'Oh, Ron, how could it possibly have been?' Hermione said in a hiss. 'When he was with _us_?'

'It could have been – no listen,' he said, holding up a hand as both Harry and Hermione moved to interrupt. 'I've worked it out, see. Snape might have taken Harry, then when he realised Harry'd used the portkey to get back, apparated himself back into the stadium to do a cover up. It'd be the perfect excuse, wouldn't it?'

'Ron, you _couldn't_ apparate inside that stadium!' Hermione reminded him.

'Well, he could have apparated onto the grounds, like he disapparated out with Harry!' Ron retorted.

'And what, _flew_ back up to the loos in the stands in about three minutes?' she said sarcastically. 'Honestly, Ron, you amaze me.'

'Well, then he made another portkey!'

'It wasn't Snape,' Harry said firmly. 'It just wasn't. I _saw_ the bloke who took me begin to change back… and he definitely had a different wand. Plus, he used my name. Snape's never called me Harry in my life.'

'Yeah, but just say –'

'Oh, give it a rest, Ron!' Hermione snapped crossly. 'It can't _always_ be Snape's fault.'

'Well maybe he was in with whoever it was,' Ron decided, changing course. 'I mean, they'd have had to get his hair somehow, wouldn't they?'

'There are a million ways that could have happened,' Hermione argued back. 'I don't think Snape had anything to do with it.'

'Yeah, I really doubt it,' Harry agreed. He was starting to feel woozy from the potions, and his head was aching again. He couldn't take much more of the row.

Hermione seemed to sense his discomfort. She looked apologetic as she studied his face.

'Oh Harry, you really don't look well you know,' she said sympathetically, brushing his fringe back with her fingers.

'I'm fine,' lied Harry. But the words were more automatic than remotely true. Neither Hermione nor Ron looked convinced.

'We should probably –' Hermione began, but she was interrupted as the door to the chamber was pushed ajar.

Snape stood on the threshold, a phial of deep violet potion in one hand and a deep emerald dressing gown tied round his waist. His face turned thunderous as he saw the crowd in the room.

'I believe I told you _all_ to go to bed,' he said in a murderous whisper. 'I do hope I do not have to repeat myself.'

Ron and Hermione jumped off the mattress at once, looking terrified.

'Er – yes, professor,' Hermione squeaked. 'We just looked in to say goodnight.'

'Out,' the professor said, stepping in from the threshold and jerking his head toward the open door.

They scrambled to follow instruction at once, not meeting Snape's eyes.

'Get some rest, Harry,' Hermione said, kissing him swiftly on the cheek before making for the door.

'Yeah, feel better mate,' Ron said, shuffling off after Hermione. Snape watched them down the corridor with narrowed eyes, then shut the door to the room with a snap. He crossed his arms as he surveyed Harry on the bed. Harry braced himself for the lecture.

'You have been told several times of the effects of wandless magic,' Snape said, predictably. 'And you have experienced its aftermath for yourself. Combined with the _ordeal_ –' he drawled the word – 'you have been through tonight, I would have thought even you would know better than to disobey me. I grow tired of playing nanny, Potter. I have much better things to do than to act your nursemaid.'

Harry squirmed. 'They were only in for a minute,' he protested. 'And it's not like I got out of bed. Anyway, why are _you_ here? Why didn't you just have Minerva come, if you're so tired of me?'

'Do not play your petty excuses with me, and enough of your impertinence' Snape spat. Harry coloured, but he did not rise to the bait. Snape approached the bed. 'Professor McGonagall,' he said, emphasising the title just (Harry suspected) for spite, 'Is already asleep. Today took rather a lot of her energy as well.' Looking reluctant, he rested a long-fingered hand under Harry's fringe.

'I'm not feverish,' Harry protested.

'No,' Snape agreed. 'But you are taking Dreamless Sleep all the same.'

He held out the phial of violet potion. Harry crossed his arms.

'I have some questions,' he said bluntly.

'What a surprise,' Snape said sarcastically. 'You may ask Minerva in the morning. I'm sure she will not object.' He held out the potion again. But Harry refused to take it.

'They aren't for her,' he said stubbornly. 'And I'm not taking that until you answer them.'

Snape's eyes flashed dangerously. 'I am even less inclined to acquiesce to your petulance when you use such an insolent tone, Potter. You will address me as _sir_ or _professor_.'

'Yes, sir,' Harry amended.

Snape set the phial on the nightstand, crossing his own arms. 'Well?' he demanded. 'What fascinating theories are keeping you and your little friends up tonight?'

Harry steeled himself. He was pretty sure Snape wasn't going to be happy with him.

'Were you… were you a Death Eater, professor?'

Snape's gaze grew cold, almost closed off. Harry saw his knuckles tighten against his upper arms, turning white.

'Why,' Snape said softly. 'Would you ask such a question?'

'Ron said –'

'This is something _Weasley_ concocted?' Snape spat derisively.

'No, sir,' Harry said, forcing himself to stay calm. 'It isn't. Ron only told me what Death Eaters were. I didn't know, before. But I remembered something when he said it. I remembered Sirius Black, and what he said about you.'

Snape looked murderous now. Harry was regretting ever asking the question.

'And what,' Snape hissed in a low voice, 'Did Black say about me?'

Harry swallowed. 'I'm not entirely sure,' he admitted. 'Because he was interrupted. But he was trying to tell me that you were evil, from the time you were at school. And I think he was saying you were a Death Eater.'

'You _think_ ,' Snape repeated, raising an eyebrow.

'Yes,' said Harry. 'He definitely said "He's a Death," but he was cut off before he finished.'

There was a beat of silence, while both wizards stared unrelentingly into each other's eyes. Harry could not tell if Snape was preparing to curse him or not.

'Black is a known criminal; a liar and a spy,' Snape said finally, in a dismissive tone. 'He betrayed dozens of people in service to the Dark Lord. People who thought they were his friends, and people who loved him.'

'He didn't sound like he was lying,' Harry mumbled, breaking eye contact at last.

'Black fooled even Albus Dumbledore into trusting him, Potter,' Snape said dismissively. 'I dare say he could fool a thirteen-year-old.'

'So it's not true then?' Harry challenged, glaring hard at Snape again. 'Black was lying? You're _not_ a Death Eater?'

'I… am not in service to the Dark Lord,' said Snape tightly.

'Right,' said Harry. He felt relieved in spite of himself.

'But I should bear in mind,' Snape said, looking as though he were choosing the words very carefully. 'That if I _were_ a Death Eater, I would have given you the same answer.'

Harry scowled. 'So what then?' he challenged irritably. 'Sir,' he amended at the flash of Snape's eyes. 'You're telling me not to trust you? After not two hours ago you told me I _had_ to trust you?'

Snape rolled his eyes. 'You are dramatic as ever, Potter,' he mocked. 'And, as always, you miss the subtleties in your haste for black and white. Of _course_ you will need to trust me. But I caution that trust, in the abstract, is a tenuous and dangerous gift. You should not bestow it easily, and you should count on it even less. Never trust where you cannot be _sure_ , or you will pay the price for your folly. Trust can get you killed, boy. Trust nearly got you killed _tonight_. Foolish trust killed… many, when given to the wrong person.'

Harry frowned again. 'You're not making any sense,' he said in annoyance. 'You're talking me in circles.'

Snape's scowl increased. 'I would have thought you'd be used to such advice,' he mocked. 'Getting all of yours from the headmaster.'

'Albus talks in riddles sometimes,' Harry allowed. 'But I can generally work out his point.'

Snape snorted. 'If you believe so, Potter, then I suspect you are usually missing it.'

Harry could only glare his frustration. But it appeared Snape's patience for conversation had reached an end.

'Now, take the potion,' Snape insisted.

'You told me last term that you weren't supposed to take Dreamless Sleep if you had a head injury, sir,' Harry remembered.

'You do not have a head injury,' Snape pointed out.

'I might,' Harry challenged. 'I hit my head on the floor.'

Snape's eyes flashed again. 'Ms Vance was confident that you were not concussed,' he told him in a silky voice.

'What if she's wrong?'

'A risk I am more than willing to take, particularly if this insipid conversation continues,' said Snape through gritted teeth.

'I don't want it,' Harry whinged. 'It always makes me drowsy next day.'

Snape's temper flared immediately. 'I did not _ask_ you if you wanted it, foolish brat,' he snarled. 'I am _telling_ you that you will take it. _You_ cannot afford nightmares tonight, and _I_ cannot afford a tiresome journey tomorrow.'

He forced the phial into Harry's hand, not bothering to ladle it out.

'How much?' Harry asked in resignation, taking the phial at last from Snape's hand.

'All of it,' Snape said firmly.

Harry frowned – it was easily twice the dose he was usually forced to suffer.

' _Now_ , Potter,'

Harry sighed, but he chugged the potion all the same. Instantaneously, the room began to shimmer around him, as he fell into darkness.

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 19:**

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for your review! Yes, we will get both Albus and Severus's POVs on the situation (or have already, as you've probably read Chapter 20 now). I agree that sometimes these crises seem to humanise Severus to a certain degree, despite his rancour. As to the identity of the would-be kidnapper… well, I'll stay mum on that for now. As with our poisoner in the previous book, he/she is not to be forgotten. I hope you enjoy the continuation of our story!

 **TL-Deception** : Thank you for reviewing! Very glad to hear you are enjoying the story, and hope you liked this latest update. I got it out as quickly as I could!

 **Mawenn35** : Thanks for your review! I hope you enjoyed how everything played out.

 **Imortalglee** : Thank you for reviewing again! And don't worry about it if they aren't every chapter – I completely understand hectic schedules! It is lovely to hear from you all the same, whenever it works out time-wise. In any case, I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter! The Harry/Snape death eater conversation is one I've been excitedly plotting for a while now… so I hope it is worth the anticipation. It certainly won't be the last we hear on the subject either, given revelations of later chapters and books. And don't worry about Albus; however it plays out with Sirius, he isn't going anywhere, promises.

 **LordTicky** : Thank you for your review! Harry is definitely learning (albeit slowly, sometimes)… I'm glad you liked the bit where he realises something dangerous is going on. Hope you enjoyed how things unfolded… another mystery to add to the mix.

 **Psitomer** : Thank you for reviewing! I won't tell you who it is for spoiler purposes… but I promise it's good (well, bad, but you know what I meant). You know by now (or you will at the end of the chapter) what Harry did to get away… but there are certainly repercussions all around. There are many ways to disguise oneself; Polyjuice Potion being the obvious choice, although it is unclear if that's what the imposter was utilising at this point. Ron certainly wasn't thinking very clearly, for someone who grew up in the Wizarding World _and_ has used Polyjuice himself before… but then, he's a bit of a one-track mind sort of chap when it comes to Snape. Glad you liked the little glimpse of Emmeline: she's a character I always thought could be a little more fleshed out, and my in-my-head vision of her life seemed to fit here best.

I hazard to guess Snape would _most definitely_ poison you if he ever heard you singing Mary Poppins in relation to him, but the reaction might be worth it! I'm not sure my Harry could play matchmaker for Snape… but I absolutely think a 'Post-Talk' Harry could have the 'he needs to get laid' opinion. :) McAllister: it's a little ambiguous here, but I envisioned Snape rolling his eyes at McGonagall's reaction to the Scottish Seeker more than bemoaning the Seeker herself (though of course there _could_ be backstory there – I'll put a pin in it for now). I mostly thought she'd be a fun little character to incorporate, and perhaps we'll see her again! I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

 **Me (Guest review)** : Thank you for the review! I do apologise for the cliff-hanger ending… but I hope this chapter will satisfy some of your curiosity. As for the remainder of your questions: they are some that our characters have as well. We'll see how it all unfolds in future. Enjoy the continuation!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you're enjoying the story so much! And I'm happy you liked the quidditch – I actually have found quidditch scenes the most difficult of all to compose; it's hard to capture the match and the excitement realistically. I can hardly blame JKR for sort of getting round quidditch when she could in later novels… but I wanted to include it all the ssame. I hope this chapter lives up to expectations! This book is going to have a _lot_ of adventure.

 **AECM** : Thank you for your review and well wishes! I hope you continue to like the story.

 **Dumbledores Girl** : Thank you for reviewing, and very glad to hear you're enjoying the stories! As to the identity of Harry's kidnapper… my lips are sealed for the moment, but I think you'll like the way it plays out.

 **Babascoop** : Thank you for your review! Good to hear from you, and happy you are enjoying the story's direction. We're slowly moving toward term, but it's been a jam-packed summer! Can't say at this moment who it is who abducted Harry… but it is a mystery which will occupy many peoples' thoughts in the aftermath. Well done you for catching the significance of the captor's final line last chapter; that was definitely intended for a clue. Glad you liked the quidditch too; matches are particularly tough to write, as I think I mentioned to another reviewer… but I thought it would be fun to show. I hope you liked the exploration of Harry's brief captivity.

And thank you for your well wishes. I like Edith, actually – it's traditional, but coming up in popularity again. I'll keep it in mind if it turns out I'm having girls. :)

 **Baelkaz** : Thank you for reviewing! I know how you feel… ;). It is frustrating when Ron jumps to Snape at every opportunity, although it's definitely how Ron _would_ react… if the books are anything to tell by. You'll see some similar behaviour here, but hopefully Harry can bring him round. Ron frustrates me a great deal in canon, but I can't help but love him anyway.

 **Blue Luver5000** : Thank you for your review! Very glad you liked the chapter; especially the quidditch! As you've probably read in my responses above to a few other readers, I found the match particularly challenging to write… so it's lovely to hear people have enjoyed it. Hope you like the continuation!

 **Bubblea** : Thank you for reviewing! It's lovely to hear that you like the story so much, and I really appreciate you sharing your thoughts! I hope the quick update will make up for the cliff-hanger ending somewhat. As to the relationship thing, don't worry – I have no immediate plans to put Harry and Hermione together. At this point, particularly to Harry, they really are brother and sister like in their relationship. And I enjoy them that way. I do sometimes ship Harry/Hermione… but I haven't made _any_ determination as to where we'll end up pairing-wise, and Harry's ultimate pairing absolutely will _not_ come into play for several years. I too dislike when authors decide he should be soul-bonded with someone as a child, or when relationships develop so quickly it's as if they are married at thirteen. This story definitely isn't focused on any sort of romance. Incidentally, never apologise for feeling a need to rant or rave – that's what reviews are for! :) I hope you enjoy where we go next.


	21. The Balance

**A/N:** Hi everyone! It's here at last – Chapter 21! I'll leave this note brief, as there isn't too much new to say and I know you've all been waiting for this chapter for a few weeks now… it is _far_ lengthier ( _and_ a bit angstier – and yes, I made that word up) than my usual, which is part of the reason it took me so long to complete in this hectic time of life. There just didn't seem to be a good place to end it earlier. In any case, I do hope the extra pages will be a bit of a treat for your patience. It is also our last full chapter of summer hols – we'll be headed back for term next time!

Review responses for Chapter 20 are at the bottom. Please do review if you can – it is wonderful to hear from readers who are liking the story, and your comments often give me inspiration and motivation to get the next chapter up post-haste!

Enjoy Chapter 21!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 21: The Balance**

Sirius hardly dared to breathe from his place in the hedgerow, though he was straining his ears to hear the conversation from the cabin.

Remus.

It was only the second time he'd seen the man since his arrival at Hogwarts, and by far the closest they'd been to one another. The realisation was both exhilarating and terrifying. As he listened to the tense conversation, a part of him longed to burst through the door – to make Remus listen to the story; to understand. And a part of him remained frozen in Hagrid's hedgerow, wracked with fear that Remus' recent transformation might make him more sensitive to Sirius' familiar scent. Certainly, Remus would recognise him, whatever his form. Even Hagrid might – for Sirius could not be sure that Remus had not told their secret. He suspected he had not; for he would have been guarded even more closely in Azkaban if the wizarding world had known he could transform… but that had been before his escape. Would Remus _still_ keep the secret from Dumbledore, now that they all believed he was after Harry to avenge Lord Voldemort?

He could not move until the man had gone.

The whole thing had started out so innocently. The castle had been very quiet the past few days, and Sirius had seen neither Harry, Minerva nor Albus in the grounds. Hagrid had acquired a few hippogriffs he was keeping in a pen near the edge of the forest, and Sirius had seen him out and about, feeding the beasts bits of fresh meat that looked so much more enticing than the woodland rodents Sirius had been feasting on for weeks. That, and the fresh barrel of mead Hagrid was maturing in his garden, had drawn him from the forest today. He'd only been hoping for a pilfered taste.

He'd never seen Remus in the grounds. Even at the full moon, the werewolf had, apparently, holed up somewhere in the castle. He'd worried that his old friend would have scented him during the transformation… but he'd never been rumbled in the forest. The only time he'd seen Remus, before tonight, had been a passing glimpse as the man wandered up the path from the gates at twilight some fortnight ago.

But today was different.

From his crouch at the edge of the forest, Sirius could not see the castle or the path to the gamekeeper's hut. He might have smelled Remus' approach, if he hadn't been so focused on the bits of chop that Hagrid was tossing over the fence of the paddock for the hippogriffs to feast. He stole half a steak that the beasts had missed, dragging it under a corner of their fence and into the bushes to eat as Hagrid moseyed his way back to his cabin, humming tunelessly. Feeling sated for the first time in weeks, he'd decided to take his chances with the barrel of mead.

It wasn't until he'd reached the edges of the garden that the summer's breeze alerted him to Remus' presence, almost at the same time as he began to hear the voices. He'd only just ducked behind the hedgerow, straining to listen to the discussion as Harry's name rang back to him on the wind.

' – got himself into a bit of a scrape, again,' Remus was informing the gamekeeper wearily.

'Don' know how he manages it,' the gamekeeper said fondly. 'But he always has, ever since his firs' year. Think even I'm getting' a few o' them grey hairs from all of it.'

Sirius felt his heart singing… he was _just_ like James. And just like _Harry_ ; the Harry that Sirius remembered. Perhaps there was more of the happy toddler he remembered in this unfamiliar teenager than he'd first thought. Even as a baby, Harry had always been getting himself into trouble. And Sirius…

 _'You're going to miss all the fun!' James teased, coming out of the kitchen for the door and looking as though sneaking off with Remus to try to catch Wormtail with a female companion was about to be the best time he'd had in years. Sirius, who was still regretting his rash offer to stay behind with Lily and the baby so that James could have a bit of time off, grimaced at the reminder._

 _'Bugger off,' said Sirius moodily, tossing one of the throw pillows at James. He dodged it easily, but paused in his exodus to flick off his best mate as he pulled a travelling cloak around his shoulders._

 _'Bugga!' Harry repeated happily, crawling out from his hiding place under the table._

 _Sirius groaned, but James laughed._

 _'You're in for it now,' he warned. 'Lily will murder you.'_

 _'He's too smart for his own good,' Sirius complained, scooping the baby off the ground._

 _'Bugga,' Harry said again, delighted with his new word._

 _'Good luck,' said James with another laugh. He swept for the door._

 _Sirius sank onto the sofa, setting the child on his knee and looking seriously into his face._

 _'Harry,' he said, 'That is a bad word. Padfoot never ever should have said it.'_

 _'Bugga?' Harry repeated, cocking his head._

 _'No,' Sirius said, pressing a finger gently to the baby's lips. 'We can't say that word anymore.'_

 _'No,' Harry repeated, giggling. Sirius sighed._

 _'Do you want to play hide and seek again?' he asked him, setting the baby down on his slightly unsteady legs. Harry clapped his hands together in enthusiasm._

 _'Good,' Sirius said, relieved at the distraction. He pulled out his wand, casting a disillusionment charm on himself. The baby's eyes widened as he vanished from sight, and Sirius crept over to the other side of the living room._

 _'Come and find me, Harry,' he called in a soft voice. The baby looked around wildly, staring into the corners of the room. He toddled toward the hearth and stuck his tiny head up the empty floo._

 _'Adfoo?' he called, his shrill little voice echoing in the empty chimney and surprising the toddler so much that he started._

 _Sirius gave a bark of laughter in spite of himself. Harry pulled his head out, whipping round to stare suspiciously at the place where Sirius' voice had come from. He broke into a wide grin._

 _'Gots!' he said triumphantly, sprinting toward Sirius as fast as his tiny legs would allow._

 _Unfortunately, Darby chose that moment to dart across the floor, and Harry was not yet coordinated enough to avoid him. He tripped, pulling a somersault right through the air and crashing to the carpet. The cat meowed loudly and threw himself under the sofa. For a moment, Harry just lay there on his hands and knees, blinking in surprise. Then he pushed himself into a sitting position, and he and Sirius both noticed for the first time that he'd scraped a knee in the fall. Harry stared at the bit of blood for about half a second, before letting out an almighty wail._

 _'Oh, it's alright darling, it's ok,' Sirius assured him, wordlessly lifting his enchantment as he rushed toward the distraught baby. 'Don't cry now, it's just a scrape.'_

 _'What's this then?' Lily asked, coming through the kitchen door to find Sirius and Harry on the floor. She crouched down to get a look._

 _'Tripped over the cat,' Sirius explained, as Lily gently examined Harry's knee. 'I think he's more surprised than hurt.'_

 _Lily took the child from him, shushing him as she moved them into the kitchen. 'It's alright, love,' she said, brushing his tears with her fingertips. 'Mummy will make it all better.'_

 _'Watch him a moment,' she said to Sirius, as she set Harry on the counter and began digging in the potions cupboard. Sirius, still feeling a bit guilty, put one hand on the baby's thighs to keep him from falling._

 _'It's been happening a lot lately,' she told Sirius as she rummaged in the stores._

 _'With the cat?' Sirius asked, surprised. 'That's odd.'_

 _'Not the cat,' said Lily impatiently. 'With Harry. He's just at that age: he wants to run about and play all the time, but he's not quite up to it yet. I can't keep enough bruise balm or disinfectant in – ah, here we go.'_

 _She emerged from the high cupboard with two small phials and a jar, smiling as she turned back to her son. Harry had stopped crying now._

 _'Owie,' he said gravely, looking up with wet eyes at his mother._

 _'I know, darling,' Lily said. 'Open up,' she held a spoonful of the pain reliever. Harry's lip began to tremble as he shook his head. Lily sighed. 'Come on, sweetheart. You want Mummy to do it first?'_

 _Harry considered. 'Adfoo!' he said, clapping his hands. Lily, looking amused, turned the spoon expectantly toward Sirius._

 _'Okay, open up, Padfoot!'_

 _Sirius raised an eyebrow. 'What are you on about, Lils?' he said warily. 'I'm not hurt.'_

 _'No,' she agreed. 'But you're going to show Harry how good it is for you! Your turn first, then Harry's, right love?'_

 _Harry clapped again. Sirius groaned._

 _'You can't be serious,' he complained. Lily's eyes flashed dangerously._

 _'Sirius, it's hardly half a spoonful,' she said reasonably. 'And it's a child's dosage, it'll hardly harm you.'_

 _Sirius pulled a face, but he allowed Lily to tip the spoonful into his mouth all the same. He tried to mask his disgust as he swallowed forcibly, longing to dive for the icebox and something to wash it down._

 _'Mmm!' he lied, smiling for Harry. Even the fourteen-month-old seemed to know he was lying. He wrinkled his tiny brow doubtfully._

 _'Harry's turn!' said Lily in a singsong voice. Harry still didn't look convinced, but he allowed Lily to push the spoonful of potion into his mouth all the same. She kept his jaw firmly closed until he swallowed it, sticking out his tongue at the taste. Lily handed him a child's cup with some juice and he suckled happily, barely noticing as she took the opportunity to dab some of the disinfectant over his knee._

 _'He tolerates it better than you,' she grumbled to Sirius, who had taken their distraction for his chance to dive for the icebox, guzzling a butterbeer as quickly as he could._

 _'Ugh, that stuff is foul,' said Sirius, wiping the foam from his lip. 'You take it on purpose?'_

 _Lily shrugged, tapping Harry's knee with her wand to heal the abrasion. 'He'll take the potions easily enough if he sees someone else do it first. And he's getting too big to keep mixing them into other things; that only really works for the teething and fever reducing potions anyway. Most of the others can't be altered.'_

 _'How many have you taken?'_

 _'Twenty, give or take,' Lily said with another shrug. 'Pass me the balm, won't you?'_

 _Sirius raised a brow as he handed the tub of bruise balm over. 'You're a masochist,' he accused. 'That can't be good for you.'_

 _'It's fine,' she said as she unscrewed the cap. 'Like I said, it's very mild. I should know, I made it.'_

 _'Whatever you say,' Sirius said doubtfully._

 _'Take care with yourself, Harry,' Lily said seriously to the tiny child, rubbing a bit of some salve over his knee as she lifted his chin with a finger. 'I made you from scratch, you know.'_

 _Baby Harry giggled, throwing his tiny arms around her neck. Lily caught him up deftly and swung him onto her hip._

 _'Bugga!' Harry giggled, pointing a pudgy hand at Sirius._

 _Sirius cringed: the situation was about to get a whole lot worse._

 _'Harry,' he warned._

 _'What did you say lovie?' Lily asked, her green eyes narrowing._

 _'Bugga!' Harry repeated, flapping the hand excitedly._

 _'Hey scamp, we weren't going to say that word again, remember?' Sirius reminded the hopeless baby. 'We agreed it.'_

 _The child giggled again, completely oblivious, as Lily turned a wrathful gaze on Sirius…_

'They brought him back this morning,' Remus was saying to the gamekeeper, bringing Sirius abruptly back to the present. The conversation in the cabin seemed to have sunk drastically out of its lighter tone during his mental absence. Remus' voice was strained and tired.

'An he's alrigh?' Hagrid asked, sounding almost as anxious.

'I suppose,' said Remus doubtfully. 'He's recovered from the physical strain, at least. Minerva is with him now, and she's informing Dumbledore. I don't know all the details myself. I just sat with him while she saw the other children home this morning, and Harry was asleep the entire time. From what I gather, they never found out who took him.'

 _Took him_? Sirius thought wildly. He cursed himself for having tuned out the meat of the exchange.

'Blimey, he's lucky he weren' killed,' Hagrid growled. 'With Sirius Black on the loose an' all.'

Sirius had to bite down on his own snarl. The effort nearly cost him Remus' response.

'– don't think it _was_ Sirius,' the werewolf was saying. 'At least, not from what Harry seemed to be able to tell. But it was almost certainly a Death Eater. They used the Cruciatus Curse on him. At least twice, from what Minerva said.'

There was a sound of breaking china, a muttered oath, and an excited dog's yip. Sirius felt certain that Hagrid had just smashed a mug inside the cabin. He could understand the impulse. His own limbs were shaking in tension and anger, and he tasted metal as blood began to pool from his efforts to continue to keep his rage in check. The swell of it began to drip sickeningly down his muzzle.

 _The Weasley boy was with him… If this was the Rat…_

'I know,' Remus agreed darkly as Hagrid's swearing finally subsided. 'And Albus will be furious when he returns. But Emmeline, Minerva and Severus were able to treat him immediately, and it seems he will be alright. I just can't believe Harry was exposed to such atrocities in the first place, especially at his age. We have been overestimating our own abilities to keep him from –'

'Fang, what're yeh doin', yeh dozy dog?' Hagrid said distractedly, breaking into Remus' trail of thought.

Sirius heard it too. The boarhound was whinging, and it sounded as though he were scrabbling the wood of Hagrid's cabin door. Even through his white-hot fury, Sirius began to grow uneasy again. He'd forgotten about the dog… and Fang was surely scenting him now. It wouldn't be safe to stay any longer.

As carefully as he could, Sirius backed out of the hedgerow and away from the hut, retreating across the grounds to the refuge of the forest. Luckily, Hagrid seemed to have shrugged of the boarhound's behaviour – for he did not hear the dog's padding footsteps following his flight.

 _Harry_ …

From the sound of it, his godson had only narrowly escaped another brush with death. Another brush with death that he never should have had – never _would_ have had, if it wasn't for Sirius' folly.

But it was only a few more weeks… a few short weeks, and the Rat would be at the school once more.

And Sirius would kill him.

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'An owl, Minerva?' the headmaster asked, appearing as silently as the summer's breeze at the top of the tower.

Minerva whirled at once with an undignified squeal, clutching at the handrail to steady herself.

'Albus!' she said in shock. 'What on – how did you appear so?'

Albus smiled a little in spite of himself. 'Fawkes,' he told her smoothly, coming to join her at the rail. 'He can be _most_ subtle, when he chooses. I arrived not ten minutes ago, saw Harry was asleep, and assumed you'd come up here to clear your own mind. It is a perfect night for it.'

Minerva gave a throaty noise of either affirmation or protest, and Albus returned to his penetrating stare.

'You might have used the floo,' he suggested pointedly.

'And would it have done much good?' Minerva countered. 'You said yourself that you needed to show face at the conference this year after your abrupt exit last summer, and Harry was hardly in any danger by that point anyway.'

'Perhaps,' Albus allowed. 'But I would have liked to have known immediately, all the same.'

Minerva looked away with a frown, staring across the grounds.

'We don't know who did it,' she said. Unnecessarily, as her letter had communicated most of the details anyway.

'I am aware,' the headmaster said. 'Although, I am surprised you allowed Severus to perform Legilimency on the child in an effort to discover the answer.'

Minerva whirled again, her eyes flashing in defiance. 'You disapprove?' she challenged. 'There was no alternative, except to wait for your return with the Pensieve. And it did not seem prudent to delay.'

'I did not say I disapproved,' Albus countered carefully. 'Merely that the information surprised me.'

Minerva looked unsure now, as she deflated a little. 'I am not certain it _was_ wise,' she admitted, rubbing her arms against the chill of the night, or perhaps the chill of the memory. 'But it did seem the only option.'

'It was a reasonable answer to a difficult problem,' Albus assured her. 'I would have done the same, had our roles been reversed.'

Minerva sighed. 'It didn't make any difference,' she said. 'Severus was unable to tell anything of value from the memory. He saw the threats made against Harry, and Harry's use of wandless magic, and the curses…' she trailed off a moment, knuckles whitening against her arm. 'But he did not recognise either the place where Harry was held or his captor. He could only concur with Harry's description of the captor's beginning to change at the end of the incident… which seems to point to Polyjuice Potion.'

Albus inclined his head. 'Unfortunate,' he agreed. 'But hardly unexpected. The disguise was well chosen. I imagine Severus himself is more upset at the use of his own persona than his inability to identify the culprit. I dare say he will go to great lengths to discover how the guise was accomplished.'

'And you have no idea who it might have been, Albus?' Minerva asked, slightly desperately.

Albus shook his head. 'I have… many theories,' he said carefully. 'Each as unlikely as the next. What seems certain, however, is that the unrest and dissention that have plagued the country since Black's escape is growing, and that presents a serious threat to Harry's safety.'

Minerva was chewing her lip in anxiety.

'What is it?' Albus asked, moving closer to her and rubbing a thumb across the abused lip to cease its torment.

'He tried to kill him,' she said quietly, raising her eyes to meet the headmaster's. 'Whoever it was who took Harry – he tried to kill him in that room.'

Albus frowned. 'Yes,' he said in some confusion. 'It was very lucky that Harry had a portkey on him, or things might have –'

'No,' Minerva disagreed with a shake of her head. 'Not _might_ have, Albus. Severus saw it in the memory. Just as Harry activated the pendant, his captor fired a final hex. _Avada Kedavra_ , Albus. Harry missed Death by millimetres.'

Albus said nothing, but pulled Minerva to him tightly. The weight of her head against his chest relieved some of his own fear.

'I should not have left his side,' she said angrily. 'Severus should not have –'

'Perhaps,' said Albus heavily. 'And perhaps _I_ should not have allowed Harry to leave the castle without my escort. Perhaps Severus should have been more careful with his possessions. Perhaps we should have taught all our students to be wary of Polyjuiced-professors. There is no use in looking for blame, Minerva. It cannot undo the past. And what happened last night was not your fault.'

'We are going to have to be even more careful,' she said fretfully, pushing herself up from his embrace. 'We need to –'

'To what?' Albus asked, raising his eyebrows. 'To lock Harry inside the castle walls until he comes of age? To teach him to trust no one, confide in no one, and keep to his chambers in paranoia? He is thirteen, Minerva. A very unusual thirteen-year-old, it is true. But I will not steal all semblance of his childhood to raise him in a glass box.'

'There is no sense in unnecessary risk, Albus!' Minerva argued. 'I couldn't bear it if we lost him, and –'

'Nor could I,' Albus agreed. 'And I'm not suggesting we take chances with his life. Nothing is more important than keeping him safe and well. But we must balance our caution, Minerva. Harry will not take to being caged, and he will not thrive in one.'

Minerva sighed, leaning back against him again. For a long moment, they were silent.

'What news from Remus?' Albus asked, trying for a lighter subject.

'He is prepared, I think,' Minerva said. 'I spoke to him first thing this morning, and I sent the letters out this afternoon. The Weasleys and Grangers I hand delivered with the children… and, I must say, I do think Ron Weasley was rather disappointed on learning his brother would be this year's Head Boy.'

Albus chuckled in spite of himself.

'But I did mean to ask you, Albus… the Hogsmeade permission forms,' Minerva began hesitantly.

Albus sobered again, deliberating the unspoken thought. 'No,' he agreed. He felt Minerva relax against him. 'You are right in this, my love. Unnecessary risks tempt Fate further than I would have her bend. I will tell him in the morning.'

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Harry had spent much of the day after the quidditch match asleep – probably due to the overlarge dose of Dreamless Sleep potion that Snape had forced down his throat that night. He had no memory at all of their trip back to the castle, nor of Remus coming by as apparently he had done in the morning, nor of Ron and Hermione's departure. By the time he finally came round, it was well past supper and night had long fallen. Minerva was dozing lightly in a chair by his bedside, but she roused herself long enough to check up on him, allow him a trip to the loo and bully him into taking a calming draught… which had the effect of putting him right back to sleep once more.

But the calming potion did not keep the dreams at bay.

 _'I want to hear you beg for mercy, Harry Potter. I want to watch you suffer as you die at my feet…'_

 _'Crucio!'_

 _A high, cold laugh… and pain; pain that would rip his very heart from its chest…_

 _Blood… vomit… the terrifying grip of suffocation…_

 _'Not Harry, please, Not Harry – I'll do anything!'_

 _A high cold laugh… and pain; pain that threatened to split his head in two…_

 _'There is only power, and those too weak to seek it…'_

 _Blood… his head was aching, fit to burst –_

'Harry!'

Someone was shaking him, and someone was screaming. Harry wrenched his eyes apart, only to realise that the screaming was his own. He stopped at once, breathing heavily as he tried to get his bearings. The room was at an oddly tilted angle. Harry was drenched in cold sweat, but his limbs were not burning from the inside out. His head felt normal, and whole. There was no stone, no dirt, no fake-Snape.

There was only Dumbledore, fully dressed and wearing a travelling cloak, and staring over half-mooned spectacles with concern etched in every line of his face.

'You're alright,' the headmaster assured him quietly, easing him back against the pillows.

Harry only vaguely registered that the tilted angle of his view was due to Albus' grip on his shoulders as he was settled back down on the bed and released. The headmaster brushed his hair back with one ancient hand.

'You're – you're back,' Harry said hoarsely. At any other moment, he might have been somewhat chagrined by the desperation in his own voice… but he could not help it tonight. Dumbledore's face was the only thing in the world that might have been able to shake him from his fears. He could not be hurt, if the headmaster was here.

'Yes,' Albus agreed with a small smile. 'I arrived not an hour ago. I was just coming in to check on you before heading to bed myself. It is quite late.'

Harry felt the beginnings of shame begin to heat his cheeks. 'I – I'm sorry,' he muttered. 'I didn't mean to –'

'You have more reason to scream tonight, Harry,' said the headmaster seriously, 'Than most wizards have in a lifetime. There is nothing to apologise for.'

'Did I wake Minerva?' Harry asked anxiously, turning to check the armchair where the professor had been dozing earlier. 'She was so tired – I think she's been staying up with me.'

'I sent Minerva to get some rest in her own quarters,' Albus assured him, conjuring a glass of water. 'She did not go quietly, I assure you,' he added, with a twinkle. The familiarity and lightness in the gesture relieved some of Harry's stress. He offered his own ghost of a grin.

'How are you feeling?' Dumbledore asked, as Harry took the drink with a word of thanks.

'Not too bad,' Harry said, truthfully. 'Just tired, mostly. I don't know why though,' he added bitterly, 'As I've been sleeping for almost a whole day.'

'Magical exhaustion,' the headmaster said with another smile. 'And a rather heady combination of healing potions. Not that it was not duly earned, mind you.'

'I was stupid,' said Harry, shaking his head and breaking eye-contact with Albus. 'I never should have let myself be tricked like that. I should have asked more questions. I'm sorry if I've disappointed you.'

'On the contrary,' Dumbledore disagreed. 'I have never been more simultaneously terrified and proud in my life. You kept your head, Harry, in an impossible situation. And you escaped with your life. Very few wizards could have managed such a feat, and I can think of no other child of your age who might have been capable of it. _You_ were your own saviour last night, Harry. And you should be proud of that accomplishment.'

'He nearly had me,' Harry admitted, shuddering again as the memory played in his mind. 'That curse – there was so much pain. More than I could possibly have imagined. I thought I would die from it. He _wanted_ me to die from it. I couldn't even think when he had me under the spell. I was burning…'

'It is a terrible, evil spell,' the headmaster said, a hardness in his voice that Harry hadn't heard since the night that Dumbledore had first taken him from the Dursleys with a fractured cheekbone. 'An appalling and unforgivable curse.'

'That's what Ron called it,' said Harry, remembering the hazy details suddenly. 'An Unforgivable. What is that exactly, sir?'

'There are three,' the headmaster told him. His eyes were no longer twinkling. 'They are traditionally referred to as the "Unforgivable Curses," because there is almost never an opportunity for goodness in their use. Casting any one of the three unforgivable curses – even once – is enough to earn a wizard a lifetime in Azkaban prison. They require enormous intent and power to cast correctly, and – unlike most hexes and curses – they cannot be blocked with a shield charm. The spell that was used on you is called the Cruciatus Curse. It is designed to torture the victim with unbearable pain. It can cause serious and sometimes permanent damage, both physical and mental, if a wizard is held under its power too long or too often.'

Harry shuddered again, remembering Snape's questioning in the bedroom of the inn.

'That's why Snape wanted to know how long he'd done it to me,' Harry recalled aloud.

'Most definitely,' the headmaster agreed, still in that hardened tone. 'It was very lucky that Severus also had a counter potion brewed – it significantly decreases the chances of physical side effects.'

'Uhuh,' said Harry noncommittally. He could not get the snarling face of his unknown captor out of his mind...

'What are the other two?' he asked, mostly to divert the disturbing train of thought. 'The other two curses, I mean.'

'One is called the Imperius Curse,' said Albus. 'It is a curse of control, which renders its victims nothing but puppets to the caster's will. It cannot be blocked with a shield charm, but it _can_ be resisted, in very rare cases and with extreme strength of will. For most wizards, however, the Imperius Curse entraps the victim into doing the will of their master. People under the Imperius Curse have spied for enemies, committed acts of torture, or even killed their own loved ones. There is no easy way to determine if a wizard has been cursed, and very few ways to lift the enchantment or break the master's power over his victim. Many wizards claimed, in the wake of Voldemort's downfall, that they were victims of the Imperius Curse as an excuse for the crimes they were accused of committing. Some were sincere in their declaration, for it was a favourite among Tom Riddle's followers. Others were able to convince the Ministry of their sincerity, though they may have been inventing the story.'

Harry frowned. 'But, surely, a truth potion could –'

'Truth potions are highly regulated,' Albus explained. 'And they are not generally permissible until guilt has been established beyond reasonable doubt through other means. Even where veritaserum – the most powerful of the truth potions – is employed, there are other potions and magics that resist its effects. Occlumency, for one.'

Harry frowned, considering a way around the problem.

'You can see the dilemma,' the headmaster said seriously.

'I…. suppose so,' Harry conceded. 'What about the third curse? You said there were three.'

'Yes,' said Dumbledore, looking graver still. 'The third, and most terrible of all, is called _Avada Kedavra_. It is the Killing Curse.'

And Harry saw it, as Dumbledore said the words… the flash of green light… the rushing sound of approaching Death…

'That's how he did it,' he said quietly. He was not surprised to hear the fear in his own whisper. 'Voldemort. That's how he murdered my mum and dad.'

'Yes,' Albus agreed. 'It is murder – in its purest, simplest form. Avada Kedavra leaves no visible trace, and its effects are instantaneous. There is no blocking the curse, and there is no countercharm save one – the very rare act of sacrificial magic, motivated by the purest of love. Your mother's love was enough to counter the terrible power of the Killing Curse. And that is why you, my dear boy, are the only known person to survive it.'

Harry frowned again as he thought the words through. 'Well, that can't be entirely true,' he pointed out.

The headmaster cocked his head. 'How so?' he asked with interest.

'You told me that the curse – Voldemort's curse – rebounded on its caster when he tried to kill me,' Harry recounted. 'So surely that means that Voldemort was also hit with the Killing Curse. And he's alive.'

'Technically… perhaps,' the headmaster allowed. 'But only just. His body was destroyed by the spell. He is neither dead _nor_ alive, really. He exists, at the moment, in a tenuous state between the living and the dead.'

'So he's… _amortal_?' Harry clarified, hoping he remembered the term. 'Like the Dementors?'

Albus looked rather impressed. 'An interesting way of viewing things,' he said with a half-smile. 'And yes, I suppose that is as apt a comparison as one could make under the circumstances. Voldemort cannot be killed while he exists in such a form. And yet he is not truly alive. He did not survive the Killing Curse as a Man, as you did. But he was not vanquished by it either.'

' _Why_ , though?' Harry asked, still frowning. 'I know why _I_ survived – because of my mother's sacrifice. But she sacrificed herself for me, not for him. So there _must_ be another way to counter the charm; something other than the magic my mother used. How did Voldemort survive?'

'Alas, a question for the ages,' Dumbledore said, the merest flicker of a twinkle back in his eye. 'And quite as fascinating a topic for debate as your own miraculous survival. Though, somehow, far less discussed. Perhaps it is the stubborn refusal of our fellow wizards to admit that some version of Lord Voldemort continues to exist.'

'Maybe,' Harry mumbled. He studied Dumbledore's expression… the benign twinkle and the abrupt return to lightness. He could sense the answer in the offing; could tell that the headmaster was hiding the ball.

'Do you know, sir?' he asked bluntly, slipping back automatically into the school-boy address. 'Do you _know_ how he survived the curse?'

Dumbledore did not answer at once. Instead, he adjusted the bed clothes, and dimmed the candles with a wave of his hand. Harry was just getting ready to protest the avoidance when, at last, the headmaster held up a hand.

'I have suspicions, Harry,' he allowed, smoothing the hand over Harry's hair again. 'There are other ways – darker ways – that a wizard _might_ be able to use to avoid the effects of Avada Kedavra. Tom Riddle was more immersed in the Dark Arts than any other wizard of the modern age. It is possible, and I would venture so far as to guess it _probable_ , that he used one or more of these methods the night he attacked Godric's Hollow. They are what kept him clinging to his shadow of life.'

'What methods?' Harry pressed. But Dumbledore shook his head.

'Not tonight, Harry,' he said apologetically. 'Not yet. I know you detest to hear it, but you are not yet ready for the information. You are too young.'

'You've said this before,' Harry pointed out with a scowl. 'I asked you, right after I came to after the philosopher's stone, _why_ Voldemort came after me as a baby. You said I was too young to know, but that you –'

'Would tell you, one day, when you were older. And when you were ready,' Dumbledore finished with a sigh.

'I'm ready _now_ ,' Harry insisted.

'No, you are not,' Albus disagreed. His voice was more kindly than firm, but Harry found the patronisation only that much more infuriating.

'I'm thirteen,' Harry pointed out, barely keeping his temper in check. 'And I've had rather a lot to deal with already,' he said defiantly. 'I can handle the truth.'

'Truth is never as simple as it seems,' the headmaster said enigmatically. 'And I do not ever forget the trials you have been put to already, which have been far too frequent and far too dangerous for any wizard of your age. But I will not change my mind in this, Harry. I know it is frustrating for you, but you are too young yet for some answers. And I will not dishonour my affection for you, nor my respect for your intelligence, by offering a lie.'

Dumbledore's tone was still kindly, but there was a finality in the answer that told Harry pursuing the subject would be fruitless. He lay in semi-sullen silence instead, allowing Albus to card his hair. The gesture was soothing, though Harry felt anything but sleepy anymore.

'You should rest,' the headmaster said, as though he could read Harry's thoughts.

'I'm not tired,' Harry insisted. 'I've done nothing but sleep since we got back.' He paused, considering Albus again. The headmaster was still in his travelling clothes. 'You don't have to sit up with me though,' he added in a less obstinate voice. 'I don't think I'll have nightmares again, and you've only just come back. You must be tired.'

Albus smiled softly. 'Old men need far less sleep than society seems to assume,' he quipped. 'And _you_ need rest, Harry. True rest, to recover your faculties. I can get you a Dreamless –'

'No!' Harry cut in quickly. 'Er – I mean, that's alright,' he amended more politely. 'I don't want any more potions… I've taken more in the past two days than I ever want to see again in my life.'

Dumbledore chuckled. 'Very well then,' he allowed. 'I shall put a light sleeping charm on you instead. It should help keep away the dreams – at least for a time. And I suspect we shall both be more useful in the morning after a few hours' peaceful rest.'

Because he knew an argument would only end with his own defeat, Harry agreed. And, even through his frustration with the headmaster, the light touch of Dumbledore's familiar magic lulled him into the most restful sleep he had had in weeks.

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Sunday dawned bright and just a bit chilly – a testament, Harry suspected, to approaching autumn. Although he could not set aside entirely the horrors of the past few days, he was comforted by the presence of the headmaster and Minerva in the study, reading the _Prophet_ and having their tea in a routine sort of way. They made their way down to the Great Hall together, where Snape was already looking surly over a plate of breakfast.

'Where's Remus?' Harry asked curiously. He had been rather hoping to see him, after sleeping through the previous day's visit.

'He has gone to pick up a delivery in the village,' Albus told him with an amused smile. 'Although I _do_ recommend a visit to his office later this afternoon. I think you might enjoy a look.' Harry grinned, especially when he saw Minerva's disapproving glare. He suspected whatever Remus had to show him would be _well_ worth the visit.

'I can't believe we get both Remus _and_ Hagrid teaching us this year,' said Harry happily, as he accepted a plate of hash from Minerva. 'It's brilliant.'

'Indeed,' Minerva said, scooping a measure of fruit next to the pile of meats without his say-so, 'Though I _do_ wish you would reconsider your elective courses, Harry,' she told him sternly. 'Divination… it really is such a waste of time. Are you sure you won't switch out for Ancient Runes?'

Harry opened his mouth to talk back, but the headmaster seemed to sense the argument.

'That does remind me,' Dumbledore said loudly. He pulled an envelope with emerald ink from the folds of his robes with twinkling eyes. 'Your letter for the start of term,' he explained, passing the envelope to Harry. 'It did seem foolish to trouble an owl, but we ought to ensure you've purchased the required texts.'

Harry grinned as he slid a finger under the seal. He noticed that the package was a bit thicker than usual, and pulled three sheets of parchment from the interior. The first was, traditionally, a reminder that term would start the first of September, and that the Hogwarts Express would leave Kings Cross from platform 9 ¾ at eleven o'clock. The second was his book list for term, including the assigned texts for his new elective courses. And the third was –

'A permission form?' said Harry curiously, scanning the parchment. 'We're allowed to visit the village this term?'

'Ah,' said Dumbledore, looking awkward. 'Yes, third years are generally permitted to go, if their guardians consent to the excursion. However, it is a point I wished to speak with you about.'

Harry felt his heart sink a little. He knew where this was headed.

'You don't want me to go,' he said, bluntly. He could read the answer in the headmaster's expression.

'It is not that, exactly,' Albus said carefully. 'You will be permitted in the village with Minerva or myself, but neither of us feels comfortable with you there on your own.'

'Because of Black,' Harry clarified, barely able to keep the annoyance in check. He knew he was being unreasonable; knew that Dumbledore and McGonagall were trying to look out for him… but he would be the only third year refused permission, and this was the second time in as many days that Dumbledore was basically telling him he was too young to make the decision.

'It isn't forever, Harry,' Albus assured him, apparently reading the hesitation. 'It is only –'

'But I'll be the only one left behind,' Harry pointed out. 'Everyone else in my year will be running around Hogsmeade, and I'll be stuck at the castle on my own. People will think I'm too scared to go!'

'What the other insipid little brats think is hardly the point,' Snape cut in before the headmaster could answer. 'You have already proven that you can't go ten minutes on your own before –'

'What happened in Edinburgh wasn't _my_ fault!' said Harry, nettled. He'd forgotten, for a blissful moment, that the Potions professor was there. The harsh reminder was both an annoyance and a slight embarrassment. 'And I've told you, it wasn't Sirius Black who –'

'It might not have been him,' Minerva said, frowning almost as sternly as Snape, 'But whoever it was could have killed you that night, Harry. You nearly died as it was. And we cannot take that risk again. You are too –'

'Too what?' Harry challenged angrily. 'Too _young_? All my friends will be going, and they'll all be my age!'

'Too _reckless_ , you impertinent child!' Snape spat.

'That wasn't what I –' Minerva started, but Harry felt his blood begin to boil.

'I'm _not_ reckless!' Harry disagreed. He was nearly shouting now. 'And I told you – it wasn't my fault what happened in Edinburgh! How was I supposed to know someone would try and impersonate _you_?'

'It _was_ your fault that you ran off after Black the day he was seen in the grounds!' Snape pointed out, his voice far more dangerous.

'Don't let's reopen that discussion, Severus,' Dumbledore said firmly. 'And Harry, this isn't about punishing you in the slightest. But Minerva is right. You are too young to –'

'To what?' Harry interrupted again, crossing his arms. 'The other students in my form –'

'Do not have the same burden on their shoulders,' the headmaster said gently. 'Sirius Black does not pose the same threat to your friends that he does to you. You know that.'

Harry ran a hand through his hair in frustration, though he suspected this only made the unruly mop more untidy. For some reason, McGonagall's eyes softened slightly as she watched him.

'Stop acting like a petulant toddler!' Snape snapped with even more rancour.

' _You're_ not in charge of me,' Harry pointed out, scowling at Snape. 'This isn't about potions or wandless magic or sneaking around at night or Malfoy or any of the other things you get to shout at me about! It's none of your –'

'That is enough,' said Dumbledore firmly. 'Severus, perhaps you would allow us a moment.'

The Potions professor pushed back from the table without a word, still glaring at Harry as he swept from the room. Harry did not regret his cheek, even though he suspected he would pay for it in his lessons with Snape tomorrow.

'Harry, we are only trying to keep you safe,' the headmaster said seriously, as the door banged shut behind the Potions master. 'I will take you into the village myself throughout term, but sending you on your own is far too unnecessary a risk. Especially now that we are sure Sirius Black is in the area, and particularly after the events of the past few weeks. Neither you nor your friends know enough yet to defend yourselves if you should find yourselves facing Sirius Black on your own. I know you are intelligent enough to see the sense in this.'

Harry ground his teeth together. 'I understand, sir,' he said grudgingly. 'But I still don't think it's _fair_.'

'Good morning!' a new voice called brightly from the doors to the Hall. Harry, Minerva and Albus all turned in surprise to see Remus. His smile became a bit fixed as he read the tension in their faces.

'So…' Remus said, with the air of one defusing a bomb, 'What did I miss?'

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'And they all think I'm completely incapable of _anything_!' Harry continued to rant, pacing back and forth in front of Remus' hearth a half an hour later.

'Dumbledore is keeping secrets from me, and not even bothering to _pretend_ he isn't keeping secrets from me. McGonagall thinks I'm going to keel over if I put a toe outside the castle without her minding me. And Snape – where does he get off, telling me what to do? That I'm reckless or –'

Remus had – wisely in his own humble opinion – removed Harry from the Great Hall to his own quarters for a time, under the guise of showing him the delivery of imps he'd taken that morning for his incoming first and second years. He could sense the boy's simmering temper from the moment of his arrival. Sure enough, Harry had lasted about three minutes in neutrality while considering the magical creatures, before the explosion ignited at last.

'I think Severus is right, Harry,' Remus interrupted seriously. Harry gaped at him, looking thoroughly betrayed, but Remus held up a hand to forestall the argument. 'Not that you are reckless, precisely,' he clarified. 'But Severus, and Albus and Minerva, were really all saying the same thing, in their own ways. You are very young still, and you are in grave danger at the moment. It would not be safe for you to wander the village without close supervision while Sirius Black remains at large.'

'I wish everyone would _stop_ saying that!' Harry ranted, tugging at his hair.

'But it is true, Harry,' Remus said, as gently as he could. 'And it is not a criticism. You are thirteen. You are not supposed to agree with everything that those responsible for your wellbeing think is right for you. And you are certainly not expected to be able to make the adult decisions for yourself.'

'Why?' Harry challenged, crossing his arms and glaring at Remus. 'I always did before. Until I came to Hogwarts, _no one_ make the "adult decisions"' – he air-quoted the term – 'For me. _I_ made sure I got my work done. _I_ made sure I brushed my teeth and got dressed in the morning. _I_ did the cooking and the cleaning. If I got ill or hurt, _I_ did what I could do to make myself better. _I_ decided what streets were safe to walk home from school. And I wasn't even eleven yet.'

'That is not how it is supposed to be, Harry,' Remus said softly. 'You know that. Not for any child, and _certainly_ not for you.'

'Yes, but it is how it _was_ ,' Harry insisted stubbornly. 'And I did alright.'

'Things are different now,' Remus said. 'As they should be. You do not have to take care of yourself in everything anymore; no more than any child of your age should have to. Let others worry about the big decisions, Harry. You are meant to be living your life.'

'And how am I supposed to be "living my life" when everyone wants to keep me locked in the castle? Besides, that's what _everyone_ says,' Harry shot back angrily. 'Albus, Minerva, you… Live your life, Harry. Don't think about the past, Harry. Be in the present. And don't worry about the difficult questions – let the adults handle it. You're too young and too stupid to –'

'Nobody thinks you are stupid,' Remus disagreed. 'They think you are thirteen, and you are. I knew your father at thirteen, Harry. He was my best friend, and as we grew older I trusted his judgment and his advice more than I trusted nearly anyone else's. But if you think I would have thought _him_ capable of making all the right choices at thirteen years old, you are sorely mistaken. Everyone tests the limits at your age; you are meant to do so. Albus and Minerva are just taking the precautions necessary to protect you. And I can promise you this: if Lily and James were alive today, you would not be receiving permission to go into the village from them, either.'

Harry flung himself onto the sofa, arms still crossed in temper. Remus sighed.

'What it comes down to, Harry, is that none of us – myself, Albus, Minerva, even Snape – want anything to happen to you.'

When Harry still looked mutinous, Remus tried a different approach. 'Let me ask you something,' he said, seating himself down on the sofa as well. 'Do you think that the headmaster loves you?'

Harry chewed his lip for a moment, before finally dropping his arms. 'Yeah,' he admitted. 'He always says he does. But he doesn't trust me with the truth: not all of it, anyway. He thinks I'm not ready for it.'

Remus smiled in understanding, and unspoken agreement. 'Do _you_ trust _him_ , Harry? And can you trust that he is doing what he thinks is in your best interest?'

Harry gave a reluctant smile. 'Usually,' he admitted. 'But it doesn't mean I have to like what he's doing.'

'No,' Remus agreed. 'It does not.' Sensing a good time to end the heated conversation, he swirled his wand through the air to conjure a battered set of gobstones. 'Fancy a go?' he asked, as the board set itself on the low sitting room table. 'Your mother was a good player, if my memory serves correctly.'

'Yeah, alright,' Harry consented, sitting up from his slump against the cushions. 'I don't play all that often though, I'll warn you.'

'Then perhaps I shall stand a fighting chance,' Remus said with a smile. Harry grinned.

They played in companionable silence for a time, until Remus made a poor decision that resulted in pungent goo dripping from his eyebrows. Harry laughed as he tossed him a tea towel.

'You should have asked me _why_ I don't play that often,' he teased, smirking as Remus made to scrub off his face.

'And why would that be?' the professor asked.

'Minerva doesn't usually let me,' Harry said with a shrug. 'Because every time we do, the headmaster's beard turns out a lot like your face.'

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Harry's bitterness over the Hogsmeade restriction had, luckily, worn itself out by Tuesday afternoon. He'd had an easier few days than he'd had all summer in terms of lessons. Potions on Monday went shockingly without incident, and Remus had him working on duelling rather than Dementors Monday afternoon. Harry suspected that Remus did not want to risk exposing him to more horrifying memories, though he'd only remarked that he thought they could use a change of pace. Normally, the gesture might have irritated him; but Harry was more hesitant than he cared to admit to relive the experiences of the week-end again just yet, so he welcomed the alteration enthusiastically. Snape had restricted him from wandless casting for the week after the events in Edinburgh as well, so Harry had a free morning on Tuesday. Minerva – perhaps making up for Harry's disappointment over the Hogsmeade permission form – offered to take him onto the pitch, and he spent a few glorious hours with the wind in his face as he sped after his practise snitch.

Harry headed up to the headmaster's office after lunch in a much-improved mood. He was quite excited for a lesson with Dumbledore, not least because they had been few and far between with the hectic and unpredictable nature of this summer holiday.

'Do you remember our discussion of Merlin and Nimue at the beginning of the holiday?' Albus asked, as they settled into armchairs in the sitting area.

Harry nodded. 'You said we were going to talk about the whole story later,' he observed, looking eager. 'Is that what we're going to talk about?'

'Indeed,' Albus agreed. His eyes were twinkling. 'You remember, I take it, that Merlin came to the wood to do research concerning druid magic.'

'Why druid magic?' Harry asked curiously. 'He'd already finished at Hogwarts, hadn't he? Wouldn't they have covered everything he needed to know in his time at school, if he was here seven years?'

Dumbledore chuckled lightly. 'Sometimes, I forget just how young you are,' he said.

Harry scowled, which only made the headmaster laugh again.

'Do not take that the wrong way, my dear child,' he reassured him. 'But you will find, as you grow older, that you are never truly done learning in your lifetime – and certainly not when you leave school. This world, Muggle or Wizard, is never done revealing her secrets. And those who believe they are fully enlightened are usually more ignorant than most.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. He did not care what Dumbledore claimed… to Harry, even when he disagreed with his reasoning, the headmaster was all but omniscient. And certainly, if _Dumbledore_ did not know the answer, then the question _had_ no answer.

The headmaster seemed to guess what Harry was thinking.

'I have been on this earth for well over a hundred years,' he told him seriously. 'And yet, I would never dream to assume I have even scratched the surface of universal knowledge.'

Harry wanted to argue the point, but he didn't see the use. The headmaster cleared his throat, refilling their tea cups before he continued.

'In any event,' he went on, 'Magical knowledge is never constant. Each successive generation adds to the wealth of wizarding tradition and skill while – sadly – other secrets are lost with the passage of time. Different wizarding populations have taken different steps to rectify the problem of handing our magical knowledge down, as intact as possible, to the next generation. At Hogwarts, we have tried over the years to standardise Magic to some degree with the delineation of our education system into the seven forms; seven being the most powerful magical number according to tradition. But it was not always this way. In Merlin's time, Hogwarts was far less structured. Students were Sorted – at that time by the Four Founders themselves – and educated largely _by_ the founder who chose them, with perhaps some input from the other three mages. Students were not necessarily admitted to the school at the age of eleven. It was a time when, as you know, magic was intermingled with Muggle society, and Hogwarts was not hidden as she is now. Instead, Wizarding and Muggle families alike would bring their children to be educated when their magical ability manifested; or else the Founders would find and admit talented students of many differing ages. Erasing Hogwarts' existence from the pages of Muggle history and the minds of Muggle society was one of the most onerous tasks of the Statute of Secrecy commission.

'Once students arrived at Hogwarts, they were not separated into traditional forms. There were far less students in those early days, and lessons were taught at mixed levels and ages. Students did much of their studies individually, and there were no standardised examinations like we insist upon in modern times. Students advanced at their own pace, and left the school as they achieved their desired level of excellence. For some pupils, that could mean just a few years of study. For others, like Merlin, they chose to stay at the school for more than a decade. More advanced students would often apprentice to the Founder of their House, or to another celebrated wizard.'

'You said Morgana tried to apprentice to Merlin,' Harry noted, remembering their last conversation on the subject.

Dumbledore inclined his head. 'And so she did,' he confirmed. 'Merlin refused her request: a slight which Morgana never forgave. Merlin himself, however, apprenticed to Salazar Slytherin.'

' _Slytherin_?' Harry repeated, with no small amount of distaste.

'Indeed,' said Albus, smiling again. 'Merlin was of Slytherin's House.'

'No way,' said Harry disbelievingly. 'You told me he was an early champion of Muggle rights! How could a student like _that_ be a Slytherin? Slytherin _left_ Hogwarts over Muggle-born students' admission!'

'He did,' Dumbledore agreed. 'In fact, the Order of Merlin was originally founded as a Muggle Rights organisation. It was only after the 1700s that it morphed into the achievement award it has become in modern times. But the conflict between Slytherin and Gryffindor occurred after Merlin had left the school. It was, according to history, a strong point of dissention between master and pupil, but not every member of Slytherin House opposed Muggle-rights in Merlin's time, just as most Slytherins do not oppose them nowadays. Salazar Slytherin was, as we have discussed before, a highly accomplished and celebrated wizard in his own right, whatever his faults. He had much to offer the school and his students, and Merlin learned a great deal under his tutelage, even though Merlin himself was a half-blood wizard.'

'A half-blood?' Harry asked in surprise. 'Slytherin _chose_ a half-blood wizard for his own House?'

'Yes,' Albus said. 'Do you know the Muggle version of how Merlin came to be born?'

Harry tried to remember. 'Sort of…' he said hesitantly. 'I think there's demonic magic involved, isn't there?'

The headmaster nodded. 'More or less,' he said with a shrug. 'Accounts vary, but the popular version of the legend suggests that Merlin was born to an ordinary woman, impregnated by a demon – not the magical creature category as we know to be in existence in our own world, but the sort of demon commonly villainised in Christianity. It is said that his many powers were only saved for goodness because his mother had him baptised immediately after birth. Magical sources, naturally, suggest a slightly different story. Merlin's father remains unknown, even to this day, but he is said to have been a wizard who had an affair with a young Muggle woman, during which Merlin was conceived. Why the father left or what happened to him, I do not know. Merlin's magical gifts were strong, and evident from quite a young age. He grew up in a small English village not far from what today is Upper Flagley, where he was discovered by Godric Gryffindor at the age of nine and brought to the castle to be trained. All four of the Founders were interested in teaching him, as he was bright, ambitious and highly talented. In the end, it was Salazar Slytherin who won the contest.'

Harry frowned, but he did not interrupt again.

'In any event,' the headmaster continued, 'Merlin spent more than ten years at Hogwarts. He became greatly skilled in the magical arts, particularly in Potions and Charms. He was an accomplished animagus and, of course, he also had the Sight. His work and research was renowned even before he left the school.'

'An Animagus?' Harry cut in, interested. 'What did he turn into? I remember that stories they told us in primary school often had Merlin changing into different human forms, but I don't remember any animals.'

'An enormous stag, with a white fore-foot,' Albus answered with a smile. 'It is rumoured, in fact, that Merlin's stag was the form of Nimue's patronus, for she drew on his love for its creation. Muggle tales of Merlin in this country do not usually mention animal transformation, it is true. But there is a French version, _Le Livre d'Artus_ , which claims that Merlin appeared before Julius Caesar as a stag with a white foot. The story is mostly fabrication, of course, not least because it would assume Merlin visited Rome more than a thousand years before his own birth. But then, Merlin is also rumoured to be the father of time travel, and thus I suppose it could in fact be true, at least in part.'

Harry's head was threatening a migraine as he tried to wrap it around the fifty questions the influx of information had birthed. Apparently the headmaster could sense the limits of his comprehension, for he smiled again.

'I do apologise,' he said gently. 'I do not mean to muse aloud and we are drifting, I fear, from the intended purpose of this lesson.'

'What is that again, sir?' asked Harry, only half-joking.

'The nature of Magic,' the headmaster clarified. 'As I say, Merlin left Hogwarts highly accomplished. He also left with a theory. It was Merlin's belief that this world exists in balance – the good and the evil, the light and the dark, the fire and the ice. You have heard it before, I'm sure. The idea of duality is ever-present in both Muggle and Wizard philosophy, and it was not a new phenomenon to Merlin's generation either. Merlin's theory was rather more of a tangible application. He believed that Magic was a natural force – an element, much as fire, water, earth and air are often considered the four elements of the world. There are many who believe that the four elements balance each other. But the more common theory, particularly among wizards, is that the elements are paired: water balances fire, while earth balances air – the heat and the cool, the grounded and the ethereal. You understand?'

'Er – yes,' Harry lied.

'Many believed,' Dumbledore continued, 'That Magic was the fifth element. But there could not be five, you see, because five does not balance. And so Merlin deduced that there must logically be a _sixth_ element. His approach was to divide Magic into two forms: Light Magic and Dark Magic.'

Harry frowned again. 'But… that doesn't make sense,' he muttered. The headmaster's eyes twinkled.

'How so?' he asked encouragingly.

'Well, you've told me before that Magic isn't really light and dark,' he pointed out. 'You said it's the intention of the caster, not the magic itself, that's either evil or good.'

The headmaster smiled. 'Perfectly true,' he said with a nod. 'In most cases, the nature of magic itself is not inherently evil. Just as the other four elements can rarely be perfectly separated. For example, without air, fire cannot breathe or spread. It is difficult to draw a firm line between any two elements, let alone among six. I would personally proffer that magic itself exists within all the others. Even taking Merlin's theory to be true, there are few forms of purely light magic and purely dark. Most is variable in nature. And yet, we know that there are forms of Light Magic – love magic – that is more powerful and more pure than any other. Forms of magic that cannot be cast with a modicum of darkness. And thus Merlin deduced – not incorrectly – that the opposite must also be true. He believed that only pure Light magic could counter the purely Dark, just as Fire counters Water and Earth counters Air. His research into the theory was his life's work, and what led him to the Druids and to Nimue.'

'Why the druids?' Harry asked.

'Because of the nature of druid magic,' Dumbledore explained. 'Druids work with natural magic, which by its very essence involves tuning to the balance of the universe. He believed that if there was a way to isolate and study the core of Light and Dark Magic, then natural magic was the key to discovering it. He had spent many years working on his own before he sought out the clan to which Nimue belonged, immersing himself in the theoretical, the practical and the unbelievable. He made great advancements in Runic Magic, in Charms, in Potions… but he never achieved the ultimate solution to magical balance that he so desperately sought. By the time he arrived in the forest, he was nearly driven mad with the need for an answer. But when he finally reached the druid clan, he was stalled by a new fear.'

'A fear of what?'

'A fear of himself,' the headmaster said. 'Merlin sought counsel with the druid elders upon his arrival. As you know from our previous discussion, druids were not forthcoming with their magical secrets, particularly to outsiders. Merlin had to spend many years with the clan before he could earn their trust, even after he was married to one of their own. But at the conclusion of this first meeting, the oldest of the women in the circle approached him. She was wizened and blind, in the physical sense, and Merlin was forced to bend quite low to allow her to touch his face as she spoke in his mind.'

'In his _mind_?' Harry repeated. 'What do you –'

'It is possible,' Dumbledore explained, 'For two highly accomplished legilimens to speak "mental messages" – for lack of a more adequate descriptor. Among wizards who know each other well – Professor Snape and myself, for instance – it is sometimes possible to do so without physical contact, as long as eye-contact is intact. Even those who are not trained in Legilimency often find themselves capable of this to some extent, where the connection is between two close friends. Our eyes alone are often enough to convey straightforward requests without resorting to words.'

'Er… I guess so,' Harry said doubtfully. 'But then, how could the woman do Legilimency? If she was blind?'

'How exactly, I am not sure,' Dumbledore admitted. 'Though, when we lose an essential sense, it is not uncommon that our others intensify to compensate for the deficiency. Eye-contact is usually essential in Legilimency, but I suppose that physical contact might have been enough, if the druid woman had mastered projecting the necessary magic through another channel. In any event, Merlin was tutored by Salazar Slytherin himself, who was highly accomplished in the mind arts. He allowed the woman to speak to him in this way, as he was curious what she wanted to share without the others' knowledge. He hoped it would be information to help him in his search for answers.

'Instead, the woman delivered a warning. She told Merlin that ambition walks a dangerous line between innovation and catastrophe. She told him that talented, ambitious wizards are too often blinded by hubris to recognise which side of the line they are travelling, until they have already achieved one or the other. And she told him that if he were to discover what he sought, and find himself making the discovery for the wrong reasons, his ambition could bring the destruction of our world.'

Harry swallowed thickly, even though he knew the story did not have an apocalyptic ending.

'Merlin was disquieted with the witch's insight,' Albus continued. 'He had always considered this quest a noble one: a chance to advance magical _and_ Muggle understanding. But now, he wondered if the woman was right; if he was only seeking this truth for personal glory. He began to wonder what he would _do_ with the information – if he discovered the root of all goodness, or the root of all evil, in Magic. And he also began to worry what _others_ would do, if new and powerful magics on either side became a possibility. His fear and self-doubt is what drove him, eventually, to the Mirror Pool where he ultimately met Nimue. He sought to drink from its waters in order to understand his own true nature. He wanted the reassurance that he was not following an evil temptation.'

'But he didn't drink from the Mirror Pool,' Harry pointed out in confusion. 'Nimue stopped him.'

'She did,' Albus agreed, twinkling over his spectacles at him.

'So… if he never drank the water, how did he get over his fears?' Harry asked. 'How could he be _sure_ that he was doing the research for the right reasons – that he wasn't interested in Dark Magic because he wanted to conquer the world or something?'

'Because by _not_ drinking the water, Merlin was _ensuring_ that he did not go down the road to Evil. Just as it is not Light spells that make us wielders of Light Magic; it is not having the right answer that makes us do the right thing. That is the wisdom in what Nimue told Merlin that day. It is the journey to self-discovery, Harry, the constant battle to work for what is good and just, that keeps us on the right side of Magic. Balance between good and evil is not achieved with a cup of enchanted water or casting a spell; it is the work of a lifetime.'

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 20:**

 **Guest** (Chapter 19 reviewer): Thank you for your review! I apologise for not catching yours before posting Chapter 20 – it came in just as I was updating the instalment, and I didn't see it until after. But very glad you liked Chapter 19 and wonderful to hear you are enjoying the story overall and the character relationships. I hope you continue to like it as we move forward!

 **BlueWater5** : Thank you for your review! I'm glad you liked how the Death Eater talk played out… hope you enjoy the continuation of the story.

 **LordTicky** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm happy you liked the chapter and hope you will also enjoy how our story unfolds.

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for your review! You're right – Harry definitely isn't as dense as Severus would prefer him… and then, denser in other respects. And of course, Severus doesn't _exactly_ lie to him; but he very carefully gives only a partial answer to his query. I apologise for the waits between chapters, but I'll get them up as fast as I can :)!

 **Blue Luver5000** : Thanks for reviewing! I'm very happy that you liked the chapter. Enjoy the next!

 **AECM** : Thank you for reviewing! I hope you like the next instalment.

Lily love: Thank you for your review! Very glad you are enjoying the story and hope you'll like the next instalment.

 **Guest** (Chapter 20): Thank you for reviewing! It's wonderful to hear that you are liking the story so much! I do apologise for the delay, but I hope that this chapter is worth it!

 **Guest** (second Chapter 20 review): Thanks for reviewing and for your support! I hope the wait for the update was not too terrible, and that you enjoy the new chapter.

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for your review! Albus's reaction is included in this chapter – and he is _not_ going to be happy (or wasn't happy, if you've read it already); protective Dumbledore is one of my favourites, so that should be fun as things move forward. Severus… ah, well, I stand by what I've been saying about him. Don't get me wrong, I _love_ to write Severus's perspective; and I hope I've been able to keep true to his character by also allowing the readers to see more sides to him. However, this isn't going to be a Severitus or Sevitus-style fic; Severus's feelings toward Harry are a bit more complex – given how closely they've been living/working – and I think Snape is beginning to develop a tad more empathy, and at times perhaps respect, than he might have been able to show toward Harry in canon. That said, he isn't going to come to feel for him at the level that Albus, Minerva, Remus and Sirius do. Doesn't mean we can't love him, even if he doesn't love Harry! :) Personally, I think Snape's softer side is most visible in some of his interactions with the headmaster, who I think he _does_ see as a mentor-figure in many ways, even when Albus is driving him mad.

As for Sirius and our favourite werewolf – they're back this chapter! I've been missing them too, but they didn't quite fit with the Edinburgh chapters. They both have POV sections here, and _both_ involve their thoughts on Harry: so I hope you enjoy that. I'll keep updating as swifty as I can!

 **Psitomer** : Thanks for reviewing (quick or not!)! I'm glad you liked the chapter. I won't comment on your prediction at this time… but you will find out who it was, eventually! And Ron; yes, sometimes he's a good strategist… and other times he's just completely bull-in-a-china-shop. Also, very glad you liked the Harry-Snape conversations and Snape's reactions (I definitely thought of you when I wrote the line about playing nursemaid, haha). I had a lot of fun writing their back and forth this chapter; particularly the bit where Harry is trying so hard to get round taking the last potion… Although, I must say my personal favourite for Severus lines of Chapter 20 is the one where he informs Ron that when he speaks he lowers the intelligence of the room. Harry _is_ a bit slow on the Sirius front… but then, it's so much easier for us (who obviously know from canon what the situation is and also have been seeing Sirius's POV) than for Harry, Albus, or our other characters who know only what seems so _certain_. And he _definitely_ plays a little fast and loose with exactly _what_ role he has played (only answering as to the present, omitting the past).

Best to you as well – and see you next chapter!

 **Babascoop** : Thank you for your review! Not telling on who the kidnapper is… but I think you've done a great analysis in your review. I would point out, however, that 'male' is not _necessarily_ in the criteria: since the person was Polyjuice disguised and Harry didn't see him/her make the full transition back, it is _theoretically_ possible that the culprit was female, as long as that female is shorter than Snape and has lighter hair. Or, might be male. :) Absolutely true that, once again, Harry survives the day because his would-be killer likes to play games instead of doing the deed: some people never learn!

Snape and truth? Very rare combination. Half-truths? Maybe. I think he truly believes what he said to Harry in that scene… that trust is a _very_ dangerous gift. He rants at Albus all the time for keeping secrets; and yet Snape keeps more secrets than all the rest combined. Sirius is rather the opposite, so it should definitely be an interesting dynamic once he has a true part to play in Harry's life and upbringing… _if_ he has a chance to play, that is.

In Part I, we got to see a bit more of Ron in light-hearted scenes. Here, I'm in agreement – he's quite stubborn and hot-headed. Of course, that is Ron in his anti-Snape mode, which we certainly saw a lot of in canon… but he won't always be that way. I do have a bit of a soft spot for him, whatever his faults. And Hermione: I just absolutely love her :)

Yes, pairings _do_ seem to be coming up quite a lot lately in reviews… but I am in agreement with you here: I don't intend to pair Harry for sometime yet, whatever direction that ends up heading. I think he's still a bit too young. And I doubt we'll have just one pairing, when it comes to it. But I really appreciate the vote of confidence! Hopefully everyone will enjoy the experience when Harry _does_ finally get into some sort of relationship.

 **TL-Deception** : Thank you for your review and continued support! I do hope you enjoy Albus's bit here… things are definitely heating up!

 **Lady Beaumort** : Thank you for reviewing again! I'm glad you are liking the story and hope you'll enjoy this instalment.

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thank you for reviewing! Glad you were able to catch up :), and thank you for your well wishes! I am quite excited, and a little nervous… congratulations on your new baby as well! Poor Severus… the quidditch match with three Gryffindor teams must have been torture, haha. I hope you like the new chapter!

 **The Lord of Voldemort of Rivia** : Thank you for your great review! I'm glad you are liking the series thus far. As to shipping… nothing definite at this point, but I do note that many of the reviewers have expressed preferences and concerns :). I hope, when we get to that development, the readers will enjoy where the story goes! In any case, I hope you enjoy this update!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm very happy to hear you are liking the story, and hope you also enjoy the update. This chapter includes a good deal of the fall-out from Edinburgh, but I do promise we'll get additional Minerva-POV sections in coming chapters, especially as we head into the beginning of Harry's third year!


	22. The Hands of Death and the Sands of Time

**A/N** : So… we had our big scan done Friday morning: and the babies are _girls_! I'm surprised, actually, because I just had a feeling they would be boys… but we're absolutely thrilled, of course. James came home from his shift at hospital last night with pink frosted fairy cakes and matching bears, and I just about died. (Really, pregnancy hormones make one so emotional, and I am generally _never_ tearful… surprising though it may be, my reputation in court is rather the opposite.) I have also been feeling better and been able to return to work part-time, so I am far less likely to murder anyone just to relieve the boredom. All good things.

At any rate, Chapter 22! It is time – at last – to return to Hogwarts for real. For a nice, relaxing term…

Well, it is time to _start_ term, at least.

Review responses to Chapter 21 are at the end – thank you to everyone who left comments for the last chapter! Enjoy the journey…

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 22: The Hands of Death and the Sands of Time**

It was the First of September, and the village street was crowded as Albus Dumbledore emerged from the shadows of his chosen alley. Although at Hogwarts the thunderous sky had been threatening to burst all morning, the day was clear and bright in this north-western English hamlet. It was nearing midday now, and as Albus stepped into the street he caught scenes from an ordinary Muggle life: men and women in professional dress darting out of the little shops and businesses in search of take-away, the chiming of the door of a local dingy-looking pub, _The Hanged Man_ , and the laughter of children from a schoolyard where lessons were apparently at break. There was no sign at all of a wizarding presence in the village. But of course, that meant very little.

Steep hills of the Lake District bordered both sides of the village, most of which was nestled in the valley. Across the valley, just at the start of the hill, a small church with an unusually high steeple stood sentry, a very old and rundown-looking churchyard set adjacent. A bit further up from the graveyard, a stately manor house stood alone, centred in sprawling grounds of emerald green. The woods around the village was old, and perhaps magical… but it was hard to be sure from this place.

Albus had dressed the part today. It had been, perhaps, one of the only aspects of his preparation for the journey he'd enjoyed. He'd taken Harry on the escapade to find appropriate Muggle clothing in Hogsmeade, as part of their trip to find him new supplies for the coming term. Harry had been a little taciturn that Albus and Minerva would not allow him to go into Diagon Alley with his friends this summer, but he'd cheered up at the prospect of finding Albus clothing that would allow him to go 'incognito' in Muggle Britain. Albus so rarely ventured into the wholly Muggle world these days; each excursion was a chance for a new outfit he couldn't pass up. Harry seemed to find it rather amusing.

So, today, Albus was wearing a tailored Muggle suit, in navy blue pinstripe. He'd wanted to buy it in turquoise, but Harry had threatened to call in Minerva to dissuade him from the scheme.

'Not that it really matters,' Harry had added with a laugh. 'Because no matter _what_ you're wearing, I promise you that your hair and beard are going to stand out in any crowd.'

Harry had dearly wanted to learn where the headmaster was going today, but Albus refused to say. He'd seen Remus and Harry off to join the Express – having promised Harry that he could, at least, travel to the castle with the rest of the students – and set off to find Minerva to assist with the rest of his disguise. He could have done it himself, of course, but it was always easier to have another complete physical Transfiguration… and Minerva delighted in the process. She, too, had wished to know where he was off to; but he was keeping mum for now.

And so Albus Dumbledore set off down the high street of Little Hangleton in a pinstriped suit, the late summer breeze wafting his chin-length, blonde hair. His face was devoid of lines, his eyes a darker blue, and his spectacles a more fashionable, rectangular shape. 'Brian Dempsey' – as Albus had decided to christen himself – was but thirty years old or so; a real estate mogul in from town for the day, interested in purchasing property and learning about the village history.

Humming to himself, Albus pushed open the door to the little pub. He always found the local watering holes the best bet for a touch of old-fashioned gossip.

'What'll it be?' a plump, smiling barmaid asked, as Albus sat himself at a corner of the counter. She gave his suit an appreciative once-over, and Albus inwardly congratulated himself (and Harry) on the fashionable selection.

'What's nice?' he asked, picking up the menu she slid toward him and pretending to peruse it.

'The pale ale is the house,' she offered, indicating a tap behind her. 'And if your peckish, Stuart's made up a batch of steak and kidney pies not half bad for the lunch crowd.'

'That sounds perfect,' Albus said with a smile, offering the menu back. 'I'll take one of each.'

'Ta,' the barmaid said, reaching to take the menu.

As she did, their eyes met, and Albus brushed ever so lightly against her mind… he saw this woman was in her late thirties, unmarried… not a native to town. Perhaps she'd come for work? And then he saw Stuart… much older, apparently the owner of the Hanged Man. He smiled again, releasing his hold on her mind. The woman shook herself a bit as she straightened, looking dazed.

'A pint of the – the house ale, then?' she asked, trying to regain her footing.

'Yes, thank you, Eliza,' Albus said with a smile.

She nodded in a vague sort of way, and bustled over to pour the brew. Albus took an experimental sip, trying not to show his revulsion.

He _hated_ Muggle ale.

The pub was fairly crowded, but many of the diners were far too young to have the memories he sought. A few older women who looked like regular patrons were huddled together in a corner, but they seemed deeply mistrustful of this stranger as he considered them over his pint. He was just contemplating the best next step when a gruff, aged barman appeared before him, slapping down a plate of steak and kidney pie with a grunt of recognition.

'Thank you, Stuart,' Albus said, struck with sudden inspiration as he twisted the plate around.

The man faltered in his retreat, looking back at Albus with narrowed eyes.

'I know you, boy?' he barked.

'Not yet,' Albus said with his best gracious smile. It was very strange – and more than a little amusing – to hear the diminutive coming from a man at least thirty years his junior. 'I'm new to town, I'm afraid. But I've heard wonderful things about your cooking. My mother grew up in Great Hangleton, you see, and she recommended this pub.'

'Your mother was a local, huh?' the man said, crossing his arms and continuing to glare mistrustfully. 'What's your name, then?'

'Dempsey,' Albus responded at once. 'Brian Dempsey. But my mother's name was Smith then. Margery Smith.'

He'd chosen the name at random. There were, after all, a lot of Smiths in England. He figured it was not so uncommon a name that the man could dismiss it outright.

He'd guessed wrong.

'Never heard of her,' the old man grunted, looking more dismissive than ever. 'Enjoy your lunch.' He turned to walk away.

'Are you quite sure, sir?' Albus tried, reaching into a breast pocket of his suit and retrieving one of the fake Muggle business cards he'd come with. He slid a hand across the surface of the parchment. 'I have her photo here – you might recognise her?'

He passed the card over the counter to the barman, who snatched it up grudgingly. The man's eyes drifted out of focus for a moment as he stared down at the perfectly ordinary card, then back again as his stern countenance relaxed.

'Ah, yes,' he said, smiling vaguely as he passed back the card. 'Margery. I had forgotten.'

'Of course,' Albus said with an easy smile of his own. 'It is a very long time now, I'm sure.'

'It is,' the man agreed, leaning on the bar as he spoke. 'And my memory… it's not what it used to be, I'll tell yeh that.'

'Won't you join me for a pint?' Albus invited, gesturing toward the empty seat next to himself. 'After all, you seem to have brought two portions of luncheon, and I detest eating alone.'

'Did I?' the man asked vaguely, looking down to the counter where, indeed, there were two steaming plates of steak and kidney pies. 'Funny that. Must have misread the slip.'

'It happens,' said Albus cheerfully, sliding the tip of his wand a bit farther up his sleeve.

'Well, might as well, I suppose,' the man agreed, coming round the countertop and hoisting himself onto the neighbouring stool. 'What'd yeh say your name was?'

'Brian,' Albus reminded him, holding out a hand to shake. 'A pleasure.'

'Oi, Liza!' the man barked, nearly startling Albus out of his pleasant façade. 'Chuck us a pint, won't you?'

The barmaid from earlier came bustling back around. She looked startled to see the unlikely drinking mates, but Albus could tell she daren't contradict her employer's orders. She poured out a second pint of the same revolting brew she'd given Albus, and set it down in front of Stuart without a word.

'So… you grow up round these parts?' Stuart asked, taking a deep pull from his beer.

'Alas, no,' Albus admitted. 'My mother would have preferred it, but my father wanted to be in town. I'm getting tired of London nowadays, though. Hoping to make it back to the country.'

'Aye, I don't get into London much myself,' the man admitted, now digging through his pie. 'Too many people, too many sounds. You're better off without 'em, in my view.'

Albus nodded noncommittally, bracing to broach the subject. 'And too much crime,' he added. 'I much prefer the quiet of the country, in that regard.'

'Too right,' Stuart agreed with a nod. 'We've not much to speak of here – bit of the usual teenage ruckus now and again, but it's a rare thing to see anything really nasty up in the fells.'

'What excellent news,' said Albus, eyes twinkling. 'Of course, that makes it all the more interesting when something does happen, I suppose,' he added lightly, taking a bite of his own lunch. 'I'll never forget what a fuss mother always made about something that happened here, in fact, to someone called… Riggles, maybe?'

'The Riddles,' Stuart grunted. 'Aye, that was a strange sort of business if ever there was.'

Albus fingered his glass, trying to hide his excitement. 'What exactly happened?' he asked after a moment. 'Mother said there was a family of three that died… I think she thought it might have been some sort of accident.'

'It weren't no accident,' said a new voice. Albus looked around in surprise. One of the little old women from the corner table had joined them, hoisting herself up with surprising strength onto a stool next to Stuart's, and promptly nicking his beer. Her companions in the corner looked disapproving; Albus could tell they were not overly fond of socialising with strangers.

'Brian Dempsey,' Albus said, offering his hand to the newcomer. She ignored the gesture, too busy attempting to keep hold of the pint as Stuart griped at her.

'Sarah,' Stuart said shortly, jerking his head toward the old woman. 'She was the maid up in the big house when the Riddles were found.'

' _I_ was the one what found 'em,' Sarah clarified, nodding importantly at Albus.

'That must have been frightening,' said Albus fairly. 'You said they lived in the big house – is that the house on the hill?'

Both Sarah and Stuart nodded. Sarah cleared her throat. 'They was there for generations, they was,' she told Albus conspiratorially. 'And owned half the village to boot. But the Crown got the house in the end, after the ole pair and the son copped it. They sold it off to some bloke from Yorkshire, and he and his family was there for a year or two, but they sold it too. And on and on it went until some lad from Manchester got it a while back. He's never lived in it though – too haunted, we think. Just keeps it for the taxes.'

'It's a pity the family died out,' Albus noted, prodding lightly.

Stuart snorted. 'Not particularly,' he opined. 'The old Riddles were snobs – thought they were much better than the rest of us. You'd never catch either down in the pubs.'

'Aye,' Sarah agreed with a firm nod. 'And Tom Riddle – that's the son – he were just as bad. Course, gave his folks some troubles too. Should have seen their faces when they heard he'd run off with that trollop.'

Albus raised an eyebrow. Sarah nodded seriously at him.

'Ooh, yeah,' she said, sipping the pint again as she relished in the old gossip. 'Tramp's daughter, she was. They never mingled much either. We think she fell pregnant, and Tom ran off with her to cover it. But he came back a year or so later, sayin' he'd been hoodwinked into the marriage in the first place.'

'Did he?' asked Albus, intrigued. 'How odd. Who was the woman?'

Sarah shrugged. 'Don' remember her name now,' she admitted. 'Gaunt, I think, were her father's people. But they died off years ago too. No one ever saw the baby, if she'd had one to start with. And she never came back round these parts.'

'Tell him about when the bobbies got there, Sarah,' Stuart said.

'Well, as I say, I was the one what found 'em,' Sarah repeated. 'Summer 1943, I'll never forget it. I'd gone up in the night, because the old lady liked the downstairs rooms done while they was sleeping. I pushed open the door to the drawing room and there they was – cold as ice and frozen in their seats, still in their dinner things and looking like they'd died in terror. Well, o course, I couldn't stay in the house! I came down into the village right quick, and the bobbies went up to the big house, and we all thought they'd take him in for good.'

'Take him in?' Albus repeated. 'Take who in?'

'Frank, o course,' Sarah said, as though Albus were being thick. Stuart seemed to pick up a bit more quickly.

'Frank Bryce,' he explained. 'He's the gardener up at the big house, has been sixty years at least.'

'He were the only one what had a key,' said Sarah. She was whispering now, her head bent low across Stuart toward Albus. 'And the door weren't forced or nothing. Frank _said_ he'd seen some teenager climbing up the hill earlier that day, but – like I say – nobody forced the door, and no one _else_ saw the boy.'

'I see,' said Albus, quite intrigued.

'But there was no proof,' Stuart put in. 'They questioned him, of course. Kept him most of the night. But then the surgeon came back saying the bodies were clean, and they couldn't make out a cause of death. So they let old Frank go.'

'Three people aren't _frightened_ to death,' Sarah said with a sniff. 'As far as I'm concerned, Frank killed him. And everyone knows it – we've known it for years.'

An hour or so later, Albus made his departure from the pub and headed up the high street again, toward the 'big house.'

The grounds were velvet green and lush, and the sprawling manor had clearly been grand and stately in its day. But its day, sadly, seemed to have passed some time ago. There were boarded windows on the first and second floors, and portions of the roof were missing or decayed. The front columns and half the siding was covered in a thick ivy, and there was a derelict feeling of tragedy and neglect about the estate. The aura made Albus uneasy.

As he strolled through the gates, however, he saw a stooped figure bent over a rosebush near the path. The man stood – not much less bent over than he'd been while pruning – and fixed Albus with a stare that spoke of years of deep-seated mistrust.

'What do you want?' the old man barked, taking in Albus' polished suit and wingtips with a disgruntled contempt.

'Good day,' Albus greeted with a smile. 'You must be Mr Bryce.'

'Who wants to know?' the man asked, leaning heavily against a rotting fence post.

Albus kept his smile in place. 'My name is Brian Dempsey,' he said courteously. 'I've been sent by your employer, Mr – ' he brushed casually against the man's mind, 'Dawson,' he finished. 'To do an interior check on the house.'

'R- right,' the man said, looking unnerved. 'You'll have to wait here then a mo'. I don't carry the key on me.'

'Oh no matter,' said Albus with a smile. 'I have a copy on me, in fact. Would you mind if I showed myself in?'

Frank grunted again, bending back over the bush. Albus watched him curiously for a moment in sympathy. The old gardener was aged, and slightly crippled. The upkeep of the grounds was clearly getting beyond him, though they were in much better shape than the house itself. Judging by the talk in the village, this man had lived most of his life in isolation and suspicion – forever blamed for a crime he had not committed. He longed to do something to assist Frank Bryce… but he was wary of leaving any significant magical footprint.

It would not do for the current Tom Riddle to ever be able to trace what he'd done.

'Thank you,' he said quietly. And he made his way toward the manor house.

Once out of sight of the gardener, a quick, silent charm released the side door to the kitchens. Albus had selected this entrance over the front, as it seemed a bit less overgrown. The door creaked on its hinges as he pushed it ajar, and he was tempted, on seeing the filth and dust within, to put a protective charm over his new suit. He crept quietly through the house, sensing with his magic as well as his eyes. In the drawing room the maid had spoken of, he could feel the heady shadows of dark magic… but it had dimmed with the passing years and fading memories. It was clear the house had not been lived in for decades, and Albus was sure even its Muggle owners could sense, to some extent, the ominous aura of the place.

Some twenty minutes later, he closed the kitchen door softly again, spelling it locked once more with a touch of his hand.

'I thank you,' he said to the gardener, as he made his way down the path toward the gates once again. 'I think I have everything I need.'

Frank grunted, but did not look up. Albus smiled. 'Do you hear from Mr Dawson much?' he asked curiously. Frank raised his head, and Albus caught his eyes once more.

 _No… and never in person_. That was good. He would not need to modify the gardener's memory.

'Just when he sends the payment every fortnight,' the man said shortly.

Albus nodded once. 'Good afternoon, then,' he said, inclining his head. And he left Frank Bryce to his pruning, as he made for the gates and a safe place to apparate home.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Remus took Harry to the platform by portkey, so that they would not have to pass the Dementors at the gates. Harry still found it hard to believe that summer was truly over, and the start of term had arrived. He was excited to get back to a normal schedule and the bustle of the school year, but the final weeks of summer had flown by… and he would miss the comforts of the castle as more of a 'home' than a 'school.' Things were never the same once term commenced.

Remus had been ill – again – over the past few days. For a while, Harry had feared that the new professor would not be recovered in time to start his teaching post, let alone accompany Harry on the train journey as he'd promised. Remus' presence was the only way he'd finally got Albus and Minerva to agree to let him take the Hogwarts Express with his friends, and – though his first concern was for Remus' health – he couldn't help a smaller, more selfish part of his brain that really hoped the man would get well so that he wouldn't have to give up yet _another_ part of his Hogwarts experience.

Fortunately, Remus was recovered enough by the morning of the first of September to allow them to go, though he fell asleep against the window of their chosen compartment before Hermione, Ron, or the other Weasleys had even arrived. Harry crept quietly out of the train, afraid to wake him when he still looked so wan, but eager to greet the Weasley family and see Ron and Hermione aboard. The professor did not wake even with the chaos of the hundreds of students piling onto the train, nor with the sharp toot of the engine as they finally set out from Kings Cross. Harry supposed he was just too exhausted.

'Is he alright?' Ron asked doubtfully, staring at Remus' sleeping form as the train began to move. 'He wasn't that bad off when we saw him a few weeks back.'

'He's fine,' said Harry defensively, though he couldn't help but shoot his own anxious glance in the professor's direction. 'He's been a bit under the weather. Suppose he's just tired.'

'So, do you think he'll be a good teacher?' Hermione asked keenly, nodding her head toward Remus as the terrace houses of London began to fly by their windows at increasing speed.

'Yeah,' said Harry enthusiastically, smiling at Remus' sleeping form. 'He's been brilliant with me this summer. He's really patient, he knows loads about Defence, and he's just… I don't know. Good, I guess. He'll be fair, even with –'

'Well, well, well,' said a drawling voice, almost as if the subjects of Harry's musings had heard him telepathically. Harry scowled as he, Ron and Hermione turned toward the door to the compartment, where Draco Malfoy stood sneering back at them with arms crossed over his chest. Crabbe and Goyle flanked him as ever, both even more huge and hulking than they'd been in June. 'Had a nice holiday, did we, Scar-head, Weasel, Mudblood?'

Harry and Ron jumped to their feet at once, ignoring Hermione's attempts to calm them down.

'Just try it, Malfoy,' Harry spat, drawing his wand conspicuously. 'And I'll show you what _I_ did this summer.'

'Harry, no!' Hermione hissed.

Malfoy's sneer only grew. 'I must say, I'm surprised you've made it to September, Potty,' he drawled, raising an eyebrow in mock shock. 'From what _I've_ heard, there's yet another Dark Wizard out for your blood. Does it make you cry out in the night, Potty?'

Ron dove at Malfoy, but Hermione grabbed him by the sleeve of his jumper, yanking him back. Crabbe and Goyle flexed their muscles menacingly, but Harry just smiled back at Malfoy's stupid, arrogant face.

'Yeah, well, I'm surprised you managed to dress yourself, Malfoy,' he noted lightly. 'Seeing as you've been without a servant for the past two months. I suppose Mummy had to buy you the trainers without the laces?'

Malfoy gave a snarl, pulling his own wand; but before Harry could even counter, Remus gave a snort from behind them. Everyone froze, but the professor merely grunted in his sleep, shifting his head to the other side and slumbering on.

'Who's that?' Malfoy asked warily, distracted.

'New teacher,' Hermione said sweetly, coming up to lay a hand on Harry's arm too. 'What were you saying, Malfoy?'

Malfoy glowered, but grabbed his nearest crony by the shoulder. 'Come on,' he muttered, and he dragged the pair of them out into the corridor again.

'Stupid git,' Ron muttered, throwing himself back into a seat as the door slid closed behind the Slytherins. On the other side of the aisle, Hermione began fiddling with the straps of a wickerwork basket as Ron rubbed his knuckles menacingly.

'I swear, if Malfoy tries anything this term, I'm gonna – Hermione, _what_ are you doing!' he cried, breaking off his violent demonstration of what he'd like to do to Draco Malfoy and skittering over toward Harry as a massive, furry ginger cat made a flying leap from the overhead toward his seat.

' _Gerroff_!' he spat at the cat, pushing it away as the animal made to climb on his lap.

'Ron, don't!' Hermione said angrily, swooping in to rescue her cat. 'Crookshanks doesn't mean any harm, do you darling?' she crooned to him.

'He's after Scabbers!' Ron complained, jabbing a finger at a quivering pocket. 'I've told you a million times, Hermione, something's off about that animal!'

Hermione rolled her eyes, sinking onto the bench across the aisle and scratching behind Crookshanks' ears. ' _All_ cats chase rats, Ron. He doesn't know it's wrong!'

'Er – when'd you get a cat, Hermione?' Harry asked, trying to get his head around the argument.

Ron and Hermione promptly began to talk over each other in an attempt to tell Harry about their trip into Diagon Alley for school supplies, when Crookshanks had apparently 'nearly scalped' Ron in an attempt to eat Scabbers, Ron's pet rat.

'He's been off colour since Egypt,' Ron griped, clearly still sour. 'And that cat's not going to help things.'

'Ron, Crookshanks will be in my dormitory and Scabbers in yours,' Hermione pointed out. 'It's not like they'll be bedfellows.'

'Whatever,' Ron said moodily.

'Did you try asking at the menagerie about Scabbers?' Harry asked, frowning. 'They might have a potion or something that works for rats.'

'Yeah, I asked,' said Ron sullenly. 'They gave me a tonic, but it hasn't seemed to do much good.'

Harry and Hermione exchanged worried looks. Though Ron complained incessantly about Scabbers useless existence… they both knew he would be miserable if the rat actually died.

'Well, maybe they'll be somewhere in Hogsmeade where you can take him,' Hermione suggested hopefully.

Ron brightened. 'Yeah,' he said, sitting up a little straighter. 'That's true. Blimey, I can't wait to go to Hogsmeade. Fred and George haven't stopped going on about it since their third year… and Honeydukes is supposed to be unbelievable.'

'Yes, well, it's a very interesting village!' Hermione put in, obviously happy to be on firm ground again. 'The inn is supposed to have been where the goblins decided to stage their rebellion in 1612, and –'

'They sell all sorts,' Ron continued with a dreamy expression, apparently not having heard a word of Hermione's speech. 'Chocolate frogs, pepper imps, levitating sherbets –'

'Harry, I know you've been' said Hermione, turning to face him and ignoring Ron, who continued to list off all the amazing sweets he wanted to try. 'But apparently, the village does all sorts at the Hogwarts week-ends. There's even supposed to be a bit of a festival at Hallowe'en.'

'You'll have to tell me all about it once you've gone,' Harry said glumly. Both Ron and Hermione turned to look at him, frowning. 'I can't go,' he clarified. 'Not with you lot, anyway. I'm not allowed.'

Hermione laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder; her face commiserating, but resigned. Ron looked dumbfounded.

'You're not _allowed_ to come?' he asked in horror. 'Why? Because you couldn't get permission from your _guardians_? That's not on. Dumbledore'd never expect the Dursleys to –'

'It's not the Dursleys,' Harry said grudgingly. 'It's Dumbledore. And McGonagall. They reckon it's too dangerous, with Sirius Black still out for me. They think he'll try and have a go if he can get me on my own. And they're pretty sure he's still hanging around the castle and village.'

'But,' Ron sputtered, still looking shocked. 'But that's metal,' he insisted. 'They'll be teachers in the village too, I'm sure, and all the townsfolk are magical.'

Harry shrugged. 'They still think it's too dangerous,' he said. 'Believe me, I tried about every argument you'll think of already. They wouldn't budge.'

'But mate –'

'Ron…' Hermione warned, in a tone that told Harry she thought the professors were 'quite right' and irritated him to no end.

'No, Hermione, come off it,' Ron complained, giving her a scowl. 'I mean, Harry'll be with us, won't he? He won't be on his own. And Black wouldn't dare to –'

'Ron, Black's already killed more than a _dozen_ innocent people!' Hermione argued, drowning him out. 'Do you honestly think he'll keep away from Harry just because you and I happen to be there? See sense!'

'Yeah, that's pretty much what the headmaster said,' Harry affirmed in a hopeless voice. 'Look, I don't want to talk about it anymore,' he said firmly. 'Let's just… let's change the subject.'

'Alright,' Ron agreed, though he still looked mutinous. 'I have one for you, Harry. What's the deal with the wandless magic lessons?'

Harry was surprised. He didn't think he'd mentioned his lessons with Snape to anyone, outside the professors at the castle. Snape was always insistent that he keep the lessons secret, for now.

'Er – how did you know I was taking wandless magic?'

Ron frowned. 'You told us,' he reminded him. 'After…' he trailed off, looking uncomfortable. 'After the quidditch match in Edinburgh,' he said, trying to sound casual.

'You don't remember?' asked Hermione in concern.

Harry shrugged. 'A lot of the details after I got back are blurry,' he confessed. 'But… yeah, Snape's been teaching me a bit about wandless magic this summer. You know I have lessons with all three of them?' They nodded, and he continued. 'Well, this summer it's been more than last. I've done a bit of study with the headmaster, and then wandless lessons and Potions with Snape, Charms and Transfiguration with Minerva, and Defence with Remus.'

'Ooh,' said Hermione, almost moaning with jealousy. 'That sounds fascinating, Harry. What did Dumbledore –'

'Not yet, Hermione!' Ron complained, rolling his eyes. 'I want to know about Snape.'

So Harry talked for well over an hour, breaking only when the lady with the trolley came round to buy them all some sweets and pasties for the remainder of the journey. Ron, though mistrustful of Harry's spending so much time on his own with the Potions professor, was torn between disapproval of this companionship and awe at the prospect of wandless spellwork. Hermione wanted to know everything Harry could remember, and was particularly interested in the couple of lessons with Dumbledore Harry had had over the course of the holiday.

After they'd exhausted that topic as thoroughly as possible (for the time being, at least, as Harry strongly suspected Hermione would have additional questions once she had digested this portion of information), Harry and Ron turned to quidditch for a while, excitedly debating the prospects for a Gryffindor victory after two near-championship years. Hermione took the opportunity to pull her Hogwarts robes over her head, and coo at the half-sleeping Crookshanks. Their quidditch chat soon dissolved into a squabble again, as Ron made a cutting remark about the cat that set Hermione off the rails. Harry tried to rescue them from a row by turning the subject to their new lessons, and telling his friends about his brief encounter with Professor Trelawney last summer.

'Is the train slowing?' asked Hermione in confusion a few hours later, breaking the conversation.

Harry frowned, looking out one of the darkened windows. It was hard to tell their location through the gale now raging through the Scottish countryside, but he was fairly certain they weren't yet in Hogsmeade.

'Can't be,' said Ron, looking at his watch as he voiced Harry's thoughts. 'There must be a half hour yet, at least.'

But the train was definitely coming to a stop. Harry could hear the grind of metal on metal as the wheels cranked to a halt. And, just as it the train finally stopped, the lights in their compartment went out.

' _Lumos_!' he said quickly, lighting his wand. He heard Ron and Hermione mutter the same, just as the compartment door slid open and something heavy knocked him hard into Ron.

'Oi –'

'Ouch!'

'Oof! Sorry Harry!' an anxious voice said as someone pulled him back to his own feet.

'Hi, Neville,' Hermione greeted the newcomer. It was her hands that had righted them both, apparently.

'Do you think we've broken down?' another voice asked, and Harry saw Ron slide the door closed again behind Ginny Weasley, looking furtively into the corridor as he did so.

'I don't –' Hermione began.

'Harry, there are people coming aboard, I think,' Ron said over Hermione's answer. He looked nervous even in the eerie wandlight as he backed away from the door, and Harry felt his own heartbeat accelerate too.

'What's at the window?' came Ginny's terrified squeal, as she pointed at the glass, which had started to frost.

'The corridor, Harry,' Ron said, backing toward him. 'Lots of –'

'We ought to –'

'Quiet!' came Remus' voice suddenly. Harry whirled. The new professor was no longer asleep, but getting swiftly to his feet with a handful of bluebell flames held out in front of him. He still looked very drawn to Harry, especially in the flickering light from the flames.

'Who's coming on –' Harry began to ask anyway, but Remus silenced him with a significant look as he gestured the group of students away from the door.

'Get behind me,' he said swiftly. 'And stay quiet.'

Harry followed the instructions without question… but he could not stop the incessant hammering of his heart. The night seemed to be darkening by degrees, even with their wands all lit. Harry shivered.

And then the compartment door slid slowly ajar again. Harry heard Remus mutter an oath under his breath… but his eyes were fixed on a rotting, scaly hand that clutched at the door as a tall, hooded wraith glided into their midst. He could see the shadows of at least three others behind it. He half-raised his wand, but he knew he'd delayed too long. _This_ was no boggart.

The patronus charm died before he'd even begun it, as Harry felt his knees give way… his eyes were rolling back into whiteness and fog…

 _'I want to hear you beg for mercy, Harry Potter. I want to watch you suffer as you die at my feet…'_

 _'Crucio!'_

 _A high, cold laugh as he burned with pain…_

 _'Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off –'_

 _The sound of stumbling footsteps, frantic crying. A door bursting its hinge…_

 _A high, cold laugh…_

 _'Not Harry, not Harry, please! Not Harry!'_

 _'Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside, now –'_

 _'Not Harry, please, no! Take me – kill me instead!'_

 _'Stand aside –'_

 _'Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy…'_

 _A high cold laugh…_

'Harry! Harry, _please_!'

Someone was tapping his cheeks with soft, slender fingers. Harry groaned as he opened his eyes to the touch. There were lights in the compartment once again; though most of the glare was blocked by Hermione's anxious face and thick, frizzy hair. He could see Remus and Ron stood behind her. His back was vibrating beneath him, and he realised the train was on the move again, bouncing and jolting him along as he lay on the floor.

At almost the same time, he realised he was about to be sick.

''Mione,' he tried to warn her, pushing weakly against her arms to move her out of the way. She merely stared at him in increasing concern, but Remus was a bit quicker on the uptake. In a flash, he'd pulled Harry out from under Hermione's anxious form and turned him quickly so he could lose his pumpkin pasties into a conjured basin, rather than all over his best friend's new robes. He heard Hermione and another girl – Ginny, maybe – squeal in horror and sympathy, but he did not even have the energy to be embarrassed just now.

'Thanks,' he gasped out when he was finally done, leaning back into Remus. The new professor merely vanished the putrid basin in silence, then caught Harry up under the elbows.

'Come on,' he said softly. 'Up you get.'

Harry wanted to just lie on the floor for a while yet. The wood panels were cool and soothing, and motion did not seem such a great idea just now. But in the wake of the episode he was starting to register the others' stares, and he felt the heat of shame begin to colour his cheeks. So he allowed Remus to help him from the floor and push him gently onto a seat instead. He shivered.

'You alright, mate?' Ron asked, very white in the face as he frowned down at Harry.

'Ye- yeah, I'm fine,' Harry lied. He brushed a shaking hand across his face, feeling cold sweat. He dearly wished Ron would go over to his sister instead, who was hunched in on herself in a seat across the aisle next to Neville and looking just as ill as Harry felt.

'You alright, Ginny?' he asked her in an attempt to further this wish. Ginny gave an odd sort of squeal, and Neville rubbed her arm sympathetically.

'Everyone needs to eat some of this,' said Remus, coming back over to them all from where he'd been rummaging through his satchel in the corner. He held out a large bar of chocolate, and began breaking off thick slabs. He handed the largest to Harry, who felt his stomach clench again at the sight.

'I –'

'All of it, Harry,' Remus said sternly. 'You know it will help.'

He nodded in approval as Harry reluctantly lifted the chocolate to his lips, relishing in the warmth of the sweet as it dissolved the worst of the lingering chill. The others, taking their lead from him, began to eat their own portions in turn.

'How do you feel?' Remus asked him, sliding into the next seat as Harry finished the portion of chocolate.

'Okay,' said Harry with a shrug. 'I waited too long to try the spell though. I didn't realise –'

'It is the first time you have been exposed to a true Dementor in months,' Remus pointed out in understanding. 'The effects are not quite the same with a simulated version.'

'No,' Harry agreed with another shudder. He felt much improved from the chocolate, but still weak and shaky. Another bead of cold sweat tickled at his hairline. Remus was scrutinising him closely with quiet concern, and it made him feel small.

'Take this,' he said, conjuring a cool flannel and pressing it into Harry's hand. 'And just try to relax. I need to have a quick word with the driver.'

Harry took the flannel from Remus' outstretched hand, daubing at the sweat on his face.

'What _was_ that thing?' asked Ron, staring doubtfully at the door to the compartment as it shut behind Remus.

'A Dementor,' Harry answered quietly. 'One of the Azkaban guards. They're looking for Sirius Black.'

Hermione, Ron, Neville and Ginny all stared at him.

'I told you when you visited that they were in the grounds over the summer,' Harry reminded them. 'They're… horrible.'

'Yeah, mate,' said Ron with feeling. 'I thought you were having a fit or something. You just sort of fell to the ground, started twitching and making these really weird sounds…' he shuddered. 'Scariest thing I've seen in months.'

 _The scariest thing…_

Harry frowned, looking more closely at his contingent of friends. They were all staring at him as though he were sickening for something. Ginny was still looking very shaky, but far less pale than she had done before the medicinal chocolate. Nobody else had cold sweat still pouring down their face… nobody else looked as though they'd lost their lunch.

He felt his cheeks burn again. 'Didn't…' he asked awkwardly, 'Did any of you lot pass out?'

Ron and Hermione exchanged a grim look, but everyone shook their heads. Harry felt the prickling of shame intensify. He'd always assumed this was just what Dementors _did_ to wizards – having never really seen them around anyone else before. He supposed Remus and Snape had been around the boggart-Dementor with him too… but they hadn't been as close as he had. And they were a lot older; a lot more magically mature.

He'd never realised that not everyone went to pieces, like he did. He hadn't realised this weakness was _not_ shared.

Hermione seemed to read his distress. He felt her lay a hand over his. 'We all had a tough time of it, Harry,' she told him softly.

'Yeah,' Ron agreed. 'Ginny was shaking like mad, I don't think she'd have lasted much longer.'

'It was terrible,' Neville put in. His voice was much higher than usual. 'Like there's ice around your heart.'

'I felt odd,' Ron added. 'Like I would never feel cheerful again.'

'At least Professor Lupin was here,' Hermione said, looking sideways at Harry. 'He did some sort of spell, and a silver animal darted out of his wand and sort of scared the Dementor away.'

'A Patronus,' Harry explained. 'He's been trying to teach me, but I lost it tonight. I can't _stand_ those things.'

'This has happened before?' Hermione asked anxiously.

Harry sighed, but told them all about the time he'd first met the Dementors, in the grounds all those weeks ago. He told them about how Remus had been teaching him the charm ever since on the boggarts for practise.

'But we haven't had a lesson on the patronus in a while,' he admitted, sitting up a bit straighter as he finished the recollection. 'Not since we got back from Edinburgh.'

Before any of the others could reply, the door to the compartment slid open again and Remus re-joined them. His eyes raked over each of their faces, lingering a few moments longer on Harry's.

'More chocolate,' he decided grimly. He summoned two additional slabs from his bag, breaking the first into pieces and handing them out to the others. The second slab he handed to Harry intact.

'I can't,' Harry said quietly, grimacing as the chocolate was shoved in his hand by the professor. 'I'll just be sick again.'

'You won't,' Remus promised. 'And if you wish to avoid Madam Pomfrey when we pull into the station in half an hour, you'd better eat the lot. It'll help, go on.'

Harry sighed, but obeyed the order. The chocolate was helping, but he still couldn't shake the chill… or the memories.

'They must have come aboard on Ministry orders,' said Remus, into the tense silence. 'The headmaster gave no warning such a search would be conducted, and the driver was not aware that we would be stopped. Albus will not be pleased.'

'But if they're looking for Sirius Black, professor,' Hermione put in reasonably. 'Then, surely Professor Dumbledore will understand.'

Remus and Harry exchanged a dark look.

'Professor Dumbledore understands the necessity of having Dementors in the area,' Remus said delicately. 'But he does not approve of exposing his students to their effects. He would not have authorised this action, as no doubt Cornelius Fudge anticipated.'

Hermione frowned, but didn't interject again. Everyone finished their chocolate in silence, and Remus checked his watch.

'The rest of you ought to put your robes on,' he said, looking around at all but Hermione, who were still in their Muggle things. 'We ought to be at Hogsmeade station any minute now.'

Ron started scrambling to reach his trunk in the overhead. Neville and Ginny popped back into the corridor, no doubt to return to whatever compartment they'd stowed their own things in. Harry made to rise as well, but Remus laid a hand on his thigh.

'You don't have to, Harry,' he said solicitously. 'Albus will understand if you're not up to it.'

'I'm fine,' said Harry, feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment again.

He pushed out from under Remus' restraint, determined not to show any frailty as he rummaged for his rucksack. He was _not_ going to be the only one in Muggle clothes at the Feast… after he was already, apparently, the only one on the train who had passed out. Remus did not try to dissuade him again, but nor did his eyes leave Harry as the latter dug out his set of Hogwarts robes and pulled them on.

'You're sure you're feeling –' Remus began, as Harry threw himself back onto the bench two minutes later. But Harry cut across him angrily.

'Why didn't you tell me?' he accused, in a low whisper, so that Ron and Hermione – who were having a minor row over the state of Ron's tie on the other side of the compartment – would not hear.

'Tell you what?' Remus asked with a frown.

'That the way _I_ get when the Dementors are around isn't normal?' Harry insisted. 'That they don't make _most_ people pass out, or vomit, or –'

'Harry, it isn't about weakness,' said Remus soothingly. His calm tone would normally have put Harry at ease… but today, it only irritated him further. 'The Dementors affect you in this way, and not the others, because there are horrors in your past that the other students do not have. They force their victims to relive horrible memories and experiences; and you, unfortunately, have far more fodder for their power than most wizards.'

Harry scowled, looking out the window. In the reflection of the darkened glass, he could see Ron finally giving into Hermione's nagging, allowing her to retie the gold and red necktie. He watched them for a moment in silence.

'I heard him, this time,' he admitted quietly. He'd spoken so softly, he wasn't sure Remus would have caught it. But the warm weight that settled on his shoulder proved that he had.

'Heard who, Harry?' Remus asked, just as quietly.

'My dad,' Harry whispered. 'I could hear him – telling my mum to run for it. To take me and to go. Because Voldemort was coming, and he was going to try and hold him off. It was the last thing he ever said.'

The hand on his shoulder squeezed lightly. Harry let his head rest against the cool glass of the window, but didn't turn around. He could feel the beginnings of tears at the edges of his eyes, and he didn't want Remus, or Ron and Hermione, to see.

'Harry, I –'

'Oi, I think we're here!' Ron shouted, bounding over to look out Harry's window and apparently oblivious to the tension in the compartment.

Harry raised his head, trying to squint through the glass and driving rain as well. He felt the train beneath them slowing again, and pushed himself up from the seat.

'Harry –' Remus tried again. Harry smiled tightly.

'Don't worry, Remus,' he said, attempting to sound light. 'I'm fine. You should go – you're probably expected there before we are. I'll see you at the Feast,' he added with a grin.

Remus did not look convinced, but he gathered his case and strode ahead of them from the train, hurrying toward the stagecoaches in the distance.

Harry, Ron and Hermione battled their way in that direction as well, heads bent and cloaks up against the gale raging around them. It felt more like November than 1 September, and the queue for a coach was already a mile long with students in a rush to be out of the weather.

'Firs' years, with me!' came a familiar voice, the only person whose shout might have been able to carry over the wind. 'Firs' years, over 'ere!'

Harry looked around, and tried to wave at Hagrid with one hand while keeping his cloak about his ears. Hagrid gave a cheery wave back, looking completely unperturbed by the downpour. The group of tiny students gathering about him looked rather like drowned rats already.

'Blimey, I don't fancy having to cross the lake in this,' Ron muttered, following Harry's gaze toward the new students. 'Might as well swim it.'

'Come on,' Hermione urged them, taking them each by an arm and yanking them up the queue. 'Let's get out of it. Harry really shouldn't be in the cold.'

'Hermione, I'm _fine_ ,' Harry insisted grumpily. But he was grateful all the same when they were finally able to duck into a coach and close the door firmly on the howling wind. The invisible thestrals began moving as soon as Ron had pulled the door shut. Even though Harry knew now what made the stagecoaches mobile, and he knew the thestrals were harmless (more or less), he still thought it was a bit creepy being pulled by invisible creatures.

'Oh great,' Ron moaned, pulling his head back from the little glass window a few minutes later.

'What –' Hermione began, but she didn't have to finish. Their coach was enveloped in bone-chilling cold once more, as Harry felt his head begin to swim again. They must be passing through the gates – where the Dementors stood sentry.

Determined not to pass out, Harry leaned back firmly against the wood of the coach, closing his eyes and breathing as steadily as he could while the thestrals pulled them swiftly into the grounds. The fresh wave of nausea and chill began to fade again, as the flickering candlelight of the castle at last came into view.

'Are you alright?' Hermione asked quietly, helping Harry out of the coach as they stopped in front of the stairs.

'Fine,' Harry said tersely, letting go of her hand as he stepped onto the ground. He wished everyone would stop making such a fuss – it only made him feel worse. Hermione bit her lip, but said nothing further as the three of them made their way up the stone staircase toward the oak front doors. But just as they were crossing into the entrance hall, a new voice called out over the crowd:

'You _fainted_ , Potter?' Malfoy shouted gleefully. 'You actually _fainted_?!'

Harry felt his face burning, as he tried to ignore the Slytherin jeering… this was _exactly_ what he had feared would happen. Hermione and Ron turned him firmly away from Malfoy, shoving him toward the Great Hall. Behind them, Harry could hear Malfoy and his Slytherin gang, still cackling at his humiliation.

As the trio turned the corner, however, their way was blocked by a very stern-looking Professor McGonagall. Harry felt his shoulders tense.

He should have expected this.

'Potter, Ms Granger, I want to see you both,' she said imperiously, crooking a finger for them to follow as she swept away from the crowd toward the staircase. Ron started to follow automatically, but McGonagall shook her head.

'Not you, Mr Weasley,' she said gesturing him back toward the Great Hall. Ron watched in bewilderment as Harry and Hermione followed their Head of House upstairs.

Harry had a feeling he wasn't going to enjoy whatever awaited them at the top.

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Minerva scrutinised the children closely as they entered her office, Harry in particular. He was pale and still slightly sweaty-faced.

'Have a seat,' she invited them both, gesturing to the chairs in front of her desk. They sank into them, looking apprehensive. 'How are you feeling, Harry?' she asked him gently, bending over to feel his brow. 'Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead to say you were taken ill on the train.'

Harry went red. 'Fine, professor,' he muttered in embarrassment, trying to shrug out from under her examination and giving Hermione a sideways look.

Minerva frowned at the obvious lie. 'I've asked Madam Pomfrey to –'

But she was saved further explanation, as the mediwitch herself came bustling into the audience. Harry's face heated even further as she made a beeline for him.

'Oh no!' Harry moaned. 'I'm okay, really!'

But Poppy paid him no mind, already fussily gesturing Minerva out of the way so she could look him over.

'Dementors on the train,' the mediwitch grumbled in disapproval as she felt his forehead in turn. 'I'm only surprised he was the only one who collapsed. Yes, he's all clammy,' Poppy noted fretfully, as she reached a hand out for her bag. 'And the effect those horrid beasts have on those who are already delicate…'

'I'm _not_ –' Harry begin in fury, but Poppy forced a thermometer into his mouth before he could finish his angry protest and reached for his wrist as though she had not heard him.

Minerva thought the boy's temperature was likely to reach boiling, from the increasing redness of his cheeks as his embarrassment grew. She supposed, in retrospect, she might have waited to speak to Hermione until after this indignity. But she was too anxious to pay delicacy much mind.

'What does he need?' she asked worriedly as Poppy peered into Harry's eyes. 'Bedrest? Should he spend tonight in the hospital wing?'

'I'm _fine_!' Harry insisted, as the matron finally pulled the thermometer from his mouth again. Poppy glared down at the reading.

'Hmm,' she said doubtfully. 'He needs chocolate, at the very –'

'I've already had some,' Harry interrupted quickly, crossing his arms and glaring.

'It's true, professor,' Hermione put in, apparently hoping to spare Harry further humiliation. 'Professor Lupin gave it to all of us on the train.'

'See?' said Harry mulishly. 'So, can we go, please?'

'That does not assuage my concern,' said Poppy firmly. 'If you've already had chocolate and are still this affected, I really must insist that you come with me for observation.'

'Oh please, don't make me,' Harry begged. He was speaking to the mediwitch, but his eyes were fixed on Minerva. 'It's only because we had to pass them again in the coaches – I was already feeling _much_ better before then.'

'But Harry, you were –' Hermione started to cut in, looking concerned and doubtful, but Harry shut her up with a glare.

'Don't make me, professor,' he said again. 'Everyone's already laughing at me because I was the only one who went to pieces like that. If I have to go to hospital, they'll all think I'm some kind of freak.'

'Harry, you can't help what happened,' Minerva said soothingly. 'It doesn't make you weak, and it isn't your –'

'I know,' Harry cut in, still pleading. 'I _know_ it's not my fault… but it doesn't change the fact that I was the _only_ one to pass out, or what the other students will say about it if I don't show up for the feast. Please, professor, can't we just forget about it?'

' _Forget_ –'

Poppy puffed up her chest in indignation, but Minerva raised a hand to quell her lecture, staring into Harry's beseeching eyes.

'Very well,' she said at last. She saw him relax immensely, but held up a finger to qualify the statement. 'I will not force you to go to hospital wing, Harry, but I want you to go _directly_ to Poppy if you start to feel even slightly unwell during the feast, do you understand?'

'Yes,' Harry agreed quickly. 'I promise.'

'And I will be sending a mug of hot chocolate _with_ an invigoration draught to the table, both of which you will drink immediately, in full and with no complaints,' she insisted.

'Alright,' Harry said, without even the face she'd expected.

'And finally,' she finished with her sternest look, 'You will see me when the feast is over, after which _I_ will make a determination as to whether you are fit to return to the Tower without further care, and you will give me no arguments either way. Is that understood?'

'But I –'

'Harry,' Minerva interrupted him firmly. He sighed.

'Yes, professor,' he agreed grudgingly.

She nodded in satisfaction. 'Very well then,' she said. 'There is another matter that I need to discuss with you both. Poppy, thank you for coming by. I shall be in touch this evening if need be.'

'Very well,' the mediwitch said stiffly, packing her bag up again. Her shoulders were rigid as she turned for the door, and Minerva knew she disapproved of her decision on Harry. But, thankfully, she did not move to countermand the professor in front of her pupils.

'What did you need to talk to us about, ma'am?' Hermione asked as the door finally closed behind the matron.

Minerva tapped the front drawer of her desk, withdrawing a blue velvet pouch. She set it to the side as she took the seat, staring seriously across at Harry and Hermione.

'Your course selections,' she explained.

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Professor I don't want to drop –'

'This is not about that, Harry,' Minerva cut him off. She could not help the flare of her nostrils or her clipped tone. Just thinking of Trelawney made her irritated.

'Rather,' she continued, 'It is about an issue with the timetables. Ms Granger, you are currently enrolled in twelve subjects. Harry, you are scheduled to take nine. The usual timetable allows for eight, although we have been able in the past to accommodate up to ten in a regular timetable. Twelve, however, would be impossible.'

Hermione looked crestfallen. 'So, I have to drop some electives?' she asked forlornly.

Minerva smiled. 'No,' she clarified. 'Not unless you wish to do so. I have spoken with the appropriate Ministry departments over the summer, and I have managed to acquire this.'

She undid the fastenings of the velvet pouch, withdrawing a brilliant golden chain from which a tiny hourglass was hung, spinning as Minerva held the chain aloft. Both Harry and Hermione watched it with wide eyes.

'What is it, professor?' Hermione asked, her eyes glued to the sand.

'It is called a Time-Turner,' Minerva explained. 'The Ministry has created and regulates a small number of these instruments, and our students have used them occasionally in the past. An Hour-Reversal Charm has been encased in the pendant, inside the hourglass, for added stability. The Time-Turner allows a user to travel back in time; to repeat hours, as it were.'

'Wicked,' said Harry appreciatively, staring at the little golden chain with new respect. Minerva could see the danger already, and stepped in quickly to avoid it.

'It is not a toy,' she said firmly. 'And there are many restrictions to its use; both practical and legal. The Time-Turner is limited. To travel back in time, one simply turns the hourglass once for every hour back the user wishes to travel. One turn per hour. The device is limited to a maximum of five hours at a time, as the Ministry has determined that five hours is the longest period that may be relieved without the possibility of serious harm – either to the traveller or to time itself.'

'To time itself?' asked Harry with a furrowed brow.

'Oh Harry,' Hermione scoffed. 'Obviously, there must be all sorts of dangers associated with meddling with time. What if there are two of you running about the same place? What if someone _sees_ two of you? Wouldn't that be kind of hard to explain?'

'Precisely,' said Minerva with a small nod of approval. 'Meddling with time has historically caused many a catastrophe. And it is largely illegal for that danger. Wizards who have tried to change time have ended up instigating or improperly concluding world wars, destroying the necessary circumstances for their own birth, even killing their past or future selves by mistake. The consequences of time are so varied, and so uncertain, that altering it even in the slightest way carries a great risk. You must be incredibly careful in your use of the Time-Turner.'

'If it's so dangerous,' said Harry, now looking apprehensive, 'Why did you get one?'

Minerva sighed. 'I would have preferred not to do so,' she clarified seriously. 'And I had to make application with four departments, sign a declaration to the Minister himself, and promise to impress upon my students the importance of care with its use in order to obtain this device. But it is the only way Ms Granger will be able to keep her course load.'

Hermione blushed. 'I – thank you, professor,' she stammered.

'You are welcome, Ms Granger,' Minerva said with a smile. 'I promised Cornelius that you are a model student, and that you will _only_ use this method to attend your lessons. I hope you will keep to that promise on my behalf.'

'Of – of course, ma'am,' Hermione promised immediately.

'Very well,' Minerva agreed with a nod. 'So, when you need to repeat hours, you must turn the Time-Turner back the corresponding number of hours necessary. It is best to do so in a loo or empty classroom, because you will reappear in precisely the same spot as you turn the timepiece. You must not share the Time-Turner's existence or power with _any_ other student, and you _must not be seen_ by your past self, or you will risk that others may realise something strange is going on and an alteration of the timeline that cannot be reversed. When you have completed a repeat of the hours you allotted, be sure to return to the precise spot where you wound back the clock, or the timeline may have an irreversible break.'

Harry looked thoroughly confused now, but Hermione nodded solemnly. Minerva held out the chain.

'Take it,' she said to the girl. 'And tuck it under your robes. Wear it always – even in the bath. I do not want to risk any other students finding out about its existence or, worse, meddling with time on accident. You are to tell _nobody_ what I have told you this evening, or how you are attending your lessons. And you are to use the timepiece _only_ to _attend_ those lessons – it is not a device for catching extra sleep or repeating hours spent outside of lessons. Your work outside the classroom, I'm afraid, you will have to learn to manage on your own. Do you understand, Ms Granger?'

'Yes, professor,' Hermione agreed at once, tucking the chain beneath her robes as instructed. 'I promise.'

'What about Ron?' Harry asked. 'I mean, if I get to know, can't we at least bring him in on it?'

Minerva glared. ' _You_ get to know, Harry, because you will also be using the Time-Turner. Mr Weasley is not in the same position.'

'I – what?' asked Harry, looking surprised. 'But you said you could do a regular timetable if you had ten subjects or less…'

'You can,' Minerva affirmed. 'But you and Ms Granger are the only two Gryffindor third years currently enrolled in Arithmancy. As such, it seemed foolish to the headmaster and I – when arranging this term's timetables – to create an entirely new section such that your schedule and Ms Granger's did not overlap with another subject. Therefore, you and Ms Granger shall _both_ be using the Time-Turner on Mondays and Wednesdays, when you will have Divination and Arithmancy in the same time slot. I trust you can hold yourself to the same restrictions I have just listed out.'

Harry frowned. 'And we _can't_ tell Ron?' he clarified, looking doubtful.

'You cannot tell anyone,' Minerva said firmly. 'Mr Weasley included.'

Harry sighed. 'This is going to be tricky,' he told her honestly.

'I'm sure you'll think of something,' Minerva said with a dismissive wave of her hand, getting to her feet. 'Now come, we ought to go into the feast. And Harry,' she said, placing a hand on his shoulder as they reached the door. He looked up at her curiously, face still a bit too pale and shoulder a touch too warm. 'I meant what I said earlier,' she told him seriously. 'See that you take _both_ the chocolate and the potion, and come to see me straight after dinner.'

'I will,' he promised.

She nodded primly, and shooed the children ahead of her through the door.

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 21:**

 **Leonore** : Thank you for your great review! I do apologise for the delay, but I'm happy to hear you enjoyed Chapter 21! There was a _lot_ of information jammed into those two Dumbledore talks, but I'm glad you liked it. And it did allow us the opportunity to advance a few of our underlying themes (lessons?) for this series. I hope you enjoy Chapter 22!

 **The Lord of Voldemort of Rivia** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you are continuing to like the story, and hope you'll like our latest chapter. It's not as long as 21… but that is unlikely to be a common length (I usually shoot for 7,000 – 9,000 words, going a bit shorter or longer where the conclusion feels natural). In any case, happy reading!

 **Guest** : Thank you for your review! I'm really happy to hear that you like the characterisations so much and are enjoying the story. I hope you like the new chapter!

 **Blue Luver5000** : Thank you for your review! Very glad that you liked the chapter and hope you will enjoy the continuation.

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thank you for reviewing! Glad to hear you are all caught up – I am still a little behind in my reading as I've been so focused on writing lately, but I'm hoping to have a few hours to catch up over the next week-end. Ah Sirius… it did seem only fitting that he would teach tiny Harry to curse. The story is actually adapted from a real-life incident I witnessed at the house of a good friend, where his sister-in-law accidentally taught his two-year-old to curse. Children are always listening! Anyway, I hope you enjoy the next instalment.

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thank you for your review! And I appreciate the understanding :). I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!

 **LordTicky** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. Yes… we had a _lot_ of heavy conversation in chapter 21… but I felt that it was time to delve into the beginnings of such knowledge now. But yes, Harry is still _quite_ young – as Albus so often reminds him. Baby steps. I'm glad you liked the realism in Harry's reactions here as well. We didn't see too much angst in Part I, when Harry is still very young and very much in awe of Albus and Minerva, and – I think – largely just grateful to be out of Privet Drive. But he's getting a bit older and more comfortable around them now… and what he went through for ten years isn't going to lie dormant forever.

 **MoonshineMadame** : (You've seen most of this, but I thought I would post it in case others shared your query)… Thank you for your great review! First off, I'm very happy to hear you liked the chapter so much! I'll do my best to answer some of your questions :), but brace yourself, because I imagine this will be a long response.

The ideas for the storylines… a lot of it I have already plotted out – all the main points, really, through what I imagine will be the end of the series. Like in numerous charts and reference lists and calendars, because some of it can get _really_ complex – especially the timeline. The trickier aspect is laying the seeds and character development to get us to each part of my 'story map'… and deciding _where_ some of that development should occur relative to other portions of the story. As for where the ideas actually come from – I don't really have an easy answer. Some of it comes from my obsessive need to put margin notes in almost everything I read: I have a few different sets of the Harry Potter books now, largely because my oldest and most loved copies are completely desecrated with all my notes and questions for about ten years… answering some of those questions and developing some of those ideas was one of the main reasons I started writing this series. A lot of my writing on Magical theory and history comes from this exercise, helped along by synthesising and incorporating scraps of lesser-known canon information that JKR has released outside of the seven books. Sometimes, when I am writing, the scene almost writes itself; and often not in the way I'd originally imagined it would go. That's another strategy I use, I suppose: if you can really put yourself into the mind of the character, it becomes less about 'what should I _make_ this character do?' or 'what would be an interesting thing to have this character say?'… and much more about 'what _would_ this person do or say now?' or 'where _would_ this person go next?' Sometimes I have to change an entire POV portion because a scene suddenly becomes far more interesting from someone else's perspective because of something one of the characters says or does. It makes the writing process a bit more exciting :). Other bits of story _literally_ just pop into my head – either randomly during the day or sometimes when I'm asleep. I tend to wake up in the night or first thing in the morning with something kicking around that I just _have_ to write down immediately… before it slips into that unreachable wasteland where most of our semi-unconscious thoughts disappear to. The first portion of this entire series that I actually wrote, in fact, was the 1981 scene that eventually became Chapter One of this book. I just woke up one morning and it was all there. A _lot_ of the flashback sequences have come from this sort of occurrence, actually… Flashing back was not originally something I'd really intended to do when I first envisioned Part Two; talk about memories of James and Lily, sure, but not actually _go_ back and write the scenes in a flash-back form. But the night after I wrote Sirius's escape from Azkaban, I woke up at three a.m. with the idea that became Harry's birth and naming scene. Other bits of the story are influenced by various things: scenes from my own childhood and my own relationship with my parents and mentors have definitely crept in at places; my relationship with my husband James is a huge inspiration for a lot of the banter between Lily and James Potter in this story; friends and life experiences have provided inspiration for some scenes; and, more recently, I think my pregnancy has started to affect how I see certain aspects of the story as well.

See, I warned you it'd be a long answer!

As to the Merlin question more specifically – I grew up on the Arthurian stories. My grandfather, in particular, was mad for them. I always found it interesting that JKR incorporated Merlin into the Potter-universe almost as a deity, although by dates alone he should have been many centuries old (read: long dead) by the time Hogwarts was even founded, let alone when he supposedly attended. I chose to suspend the Arthurian timeline here, in favour of JKR's canon work. The 'Muggle version' of the story _is_ all taken from true Arthurian legend (born of a virgin woman and a demon, killed or forever entrapped by Nimue, appeared as a stag to Caesar, etc.). The 'wizard' version is what I think _could_ have been the 'true' story in the Potter-universe… I tried to tell the story in a way that would make it probable (read: the Muggle legend is one which might reasonably have sprung out of surviving rumour). I see Merlin and Nimue's story as serving a few purposes – magical history and theory, of course, and there is definitely a touch of parallel, but perhaps most importantly: fables and stories (true are not) are often the best way to teach moral lessons :). That is why Dumbledore relates the histories to Harry.

Yes… Harry's nightmares are definitely not going to be helped by his torture/imprisonment, although it is lucky that Albus and Minerva are watching out for him. I'm glad you liked their interlude. We've had a lot of their affection in the 'discreet' column… but it will certainly be interesting when Harry finally wises up on that one. To address your postscript, Harry hasn't yet (as of the end of Chapter 21) encountered dementors or a boggart-dementor since his attack, as Remus took the rest of the summer off that particular exercise largely for fear of those new memories resurfacing. His nightmare, however, incorporated bits from his time with the captor, his parents' deaths, and his battle over the philosopher's stone.

Sirius _is_ really at Hogwarts (or, at least, really in the forest most of the time). I don't know that _nobody_ notices, per se, as he was certainly almost caught earlier in the summer… but as of now they all seem to believe he's eluded them. Whether that will remain the case, and to what degree the centaurs are or are not involved – remains to be seen.

Okay, I think I'm at the end of the epic answer… but I hope you enjoy Chapter 22!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for reviewing! Yes, it is sad that Harry doesn't have permission to go… but I just couldn't see Minerva or Albus thinking it a good idea after everything that's _already_ happened, let alone what _might_ happen. As to whether or not he sticks to the agreement… well, he's Harry, isn't he? Somehow, trouble always _does_ seem to find him…

 **Pia Athena BlackHeart** : Thank you for your review! It's lovely to hear you are enjoying the story and I'm glad you are excited for the updates! I haven't thought of writing a book in the HP universe, since it's JKR's baby, but I am working on a few original projects. Perhaps one day! I do appreciate the vote of confidence and hope you continue to like the story!

 **Evesgreenleaf** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm very happy that you found the series, and thrilled to hear you are enjoying it so much. I won't promise who might survive and who might not… but, while it _is_ definitely meant as a canon-compliant series in its _inception_ , I definitely stand by my early comments that this is very much a vector-style deviation. So, events, relationships and development of the story will change with the effects of Harry's essentially being raised at the castle and under the headmaster. So that could _definitely_ change potential deaths – as well as potential survivors! I hope everyone will enjoy the journey to get there! The personalities will definitely be as close to in-character as I can keep them; though, of course, I do not think "in character" necessarily has to mean that they do or say exactly what they did in canon, or love and hate the same people even (necessarily); just as with the events of a story, people are always changed by new situations, circumstances and understandings. I am not a physician, for instance, but if I _were_ I am certain that I would practice medicine with the same attitude and quirks with which I practice law… if that makes any sense :). A bit of a roundabout answer, I suppose, but the best I can do without spoilers!

 **AECM** : Thank you for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter and hope you will like the continuation!

 **wannabe kairi** : Thank you for reviewing! Happy to hear that you like the story so much, and I do hope you enjoy the new instalment!


	23. Of Welcomes and Wars, Rats and Roars

**A/N** : An early treat! I'd thought to post this at the week-end or Monday, but it seems this time my quill was _ahead_ of my predictions, for once. However, though I'm itching to continue immediately as the story is almost writing itself right now… I must take a week off as I have a case going to trial starting Monday. So, this is (almost) certainly the last post until Saturday next.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed Chapter 22! Comments to individual reviewers are at the end of the chapter. I hope you all like the next instalment, and please do read and review!

Without further ado, on with the story!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 23: Of Welcomes and Wars; Rats and Roars**

Albus surveyed the students before him with twinkling eyes as they dove into the elaborate feast. The Welcoming was always his favourite day of term, when everything was new, fresh, and unblemished by the happenings of the year. No shadows over their heads.

Of course, this year was a bit different. For the first time in eleven years, term was opening under a banner of fear… a hint of uncertainty and disquiet rippling in a current beneath their merriment.

The trip to the Lake District had also unnerved Albus; more than he might care to admit. A part of him wished to confide in Minerva, or even Severus, about where he had gone and for what purpose today, and yet he couldn't bring himself to do so. The truth would horrify Minerva. She had been so upset already with the idea of the prophecy… to add this additional complication when it seemed they could barely keep Harry from harm as it was felt like too much. She was not ready.

And Severus… Severus would probably understand. He may not even be surprised by the information. But Severus would have to go back, one day. They both knew it was true. And he would be at Voldemort's mercy whenever that day arrived, with Albus unable to help him. The headmaster had no doubt that Severus would keep to his promise. And yet, for all Severus' skills in mind magic, Albus feared this secret could be one too many. If Voldemort got even the slightest hint that Albus knew the lengths to which he had gone to ensure his immortality, all would be lost. If he got even the slightest hint from _Severus_ , the Potions master would surely perish.

Alone on his island of knowledge, Albus wanted to theorise with Gellert on the subject again… and _that_ thought made him warier still.

And then, there was Harry.

Harry, who'd drunk the potion and the chocolate as Minerva had insisted he do, but still looked drawn and a bit listless at the Gryffindor table. Albus could not blame the chid for his desire to attend tonight, but watching him trudge through the feast was next to impossible. Albus was itching to go to him. To his right, Minerva's frequent sounds of disapproval and narrowed eyes told him she was suffering a similar concern.

For his part, Harry was mostly ignoring the high table. Probably, Albus thought, in hopes of avoiding their notice. Harry and his friends had clapped loudly for Remus when Dumbledore announced his appointment and joined the thunderous applause for Hagrid, but otherwise the child had not met his gaze since first they entered the Hall. Harry's eyes were focused instead on the Slytherin lot, where the young Malfoy boy was periodically collapsing into his fellows whenever the Gryffindors were watching.

'Severus,' Albus called in an undertone to his left, the fourth time he caught this re-enactment.

The Potions master looked sideways, catching the plea in Albus' eyes. He scowled, but set down his fork and swept from the table. Under the guise of refilling the flagons of pumpkin juice, the headmaster saw him lean low at Draco's ear. The blonde boy went a touch pink in the cheeks, but the fainting episodes did not recur.

'Did you speak with Cornelius?' Minerva asked softly from his side, as Severus reclaimed his seat at the high table with a disgruntled 'humpf.'

Albus' eyes grew colder at the question. 'Yes,' he said shortly. 'He was remarkably thick, even for him, though I dare say he will not forget my anger in the near future.'

'I should hope not,' Minerva seconded testily. 'Dementors on the train,' she sniffed. 'We'll be inundated with howlers by this time tomorrow.'

'As we should be,' said Albus fairly. 'I would send one myself, if I were not loath to trouble an additional owl.'

Minerva rolled her eyes as she turned back to her dinner. Albus tried to recapture the merriment that usually consumed him at these opening feasts… but he found the effort was difficult. It seemed a very long time before the last of the pudding had finally cleared, and the student chatter died down to the slower, lower rumble that heralded full bellies and sated minds. At last, Albus stood. Unusually, he had given the bulk of his remarks before the feast this night, as he had wanted to address the Dementors' presence immediately. So, he merely wished them all a good sleep and a prosperous term, and dismissed the school with a wave of his hand.

Harry looked sideways at Ron and Hermione as the students all got to their feet. Albus watch as, beaming, the trio approached the high table and made directly for Hagrid at the far end. He saw Filius chuckle and Severus scowl, glancing at the Gryffindor children before they hurried off after Pomona to see to the settlement of their own houses. Minerva leaned over to whisper something to Remus. He nodded with half a smile, and followed the exodus of students as well. Watching the natural ease with which he engaged in assisting the tumultuous exit, Albus felt a swell of contentment in his choice to appoint Professor Lupin this term.

'Congratulations, Hagrid!' Hermione squealed in excitement as the children reached the table. 'Such wonderful news!'

'I can't believe you didn't tell us,' said Ron in annoyance, though he was smiling too. 'I can't believe _Harry_ didn't tell us!'

'Asked him ter keep it quiet,' Hagrid admitted, wiping at his eyes with a tablecloth-sized handkerchief. 'An' it's all down ter you three,' he added. 'Can' believe it… great man, Dumbledore… he came straight ter me once ole Professor Kettleburn said he'd had it. A teacher, me? It's wha' I've always wanted –'

He broke off as the tears started in earnest, burying his face in the rapidly dampening handkerchief. Septima Vector took pity on the new professor, laying a hand on his massive forearm and shooing the children on their way.

Harry's smile fixed into more of a grimace, as he spotted Albus, Minerva and Poppy all waiting expectantly.

'Ms Granger, Weasley, you may follow the others upstairs,' Minerva said with a nod toward the dwindling crowd of students. 'Potter – a word please.'

She jerked her head toward the door to a small antechamber adjacent to the Hall, and Harry followed with a sigh. Ron and Hermione hurried off after the remainder of their House, shooting commiserating looks at Harry as they left him. Albus closed the door to the little chamber as he entered behind Poppy.

'How are you feeling, my boy?' he asked, smiling softly at Harry.

Harry frowned. 'I'm _fine_ , sir,' he said grumpily. 'There's no need for all this fuss.'

'There is _every_ need for it, if you are not well,' Minerva disagreed, her hands on her hips and her eyes glinting dangerously. 'I told you I would allow you to sit through the feast, but I must insist that Poppy check you over. I do not think you are looking as improved as you claim to be.'

'Headmaster, please,' Harry said, turning from the lost battle in clear hope of an ally. 'It's the first night back!'

Dumbledore kept his smile, cupping Harry's cheek in his hand. Though the boy had grown so much in the past year, he was still small enough that his face was well-dwarfed by Albus' palm. The cheek was also warm.

'I'm afraid I agree with Minerva, my dear child,' Albus said apologetically.

Harry turned his face away angrily. 'I _have_ to learn to make a proper patronus,' he spat bitterly, as Poppy took the headmaster's cue to move in and start fussing about. Albus wasn't sure if Harry was speaking to anyone in particular, or just expressing his own frustration. 'I never should have got complacent at the end of the summer. I should have realised –'

'Will you hush?' Poppy interrupted impatiently.

'Harry, it isn't your fault,' Albus soothed. 'The patronus is a difficult and very demanding piece of magic. You have done remarkably well, in a short period and at quite a young age.'

'But it doesn't matter!' Harry shouted, nearly stabbing Poppy accidentally in the eye with her own wand as his flailing arm crashed into hers. 'Oh – sorry Madam Pomfrey,' he said in chagrin as she tutted. 'But you didn't tell me that I was the only one who would pass out – or whatever it is that happens to me when they're near me, sir,' he accused. 'You, Professor McGonagall, Re- Professor Lupin,' he amended, with half a glance at the matron, 'None of you said! So I just laid there like an idiot while everyone else was fi –'

'Nobody was fine,' Albus interrupted, raising a hand to stop the flood of anger before Harry blew out Poppy's ears with his shouting, or made himself worse with the carrying on. 'Nobody is _ever_ fine, Harry, when Dementors are involved. I have yet to meet a wizard who, without the protection of a patronus, is immune to the creatures' effects.'

'But nobody else collapses, or sicks up,' Harry pointed out. 'Even Ginny didn't go to pieces, and she's younger than me _and_ got possessed by Lord –'

Madam Pomfrey shoved a thermometer at him with a squeal – more to stop his speech, Albus thought, than to check his temperature. Harry nearly gagged as she firmly prevented his rejection.

'True,' Albus said. 'But no other student – not even Ginevra Weasley – has gone through the things that you have experienced. Her memory of much of last year, if you recall, is rather spotty. As I know Remus has explained to you, nobody else has your set of memories. It is not weakness or failure to have these horrors in your past, Harry, nor can you help the emotional toll such memories bring. On the contrary, the fact that you _can_ feel these emotions so deeply attests only to the strength of your opposing ability for love, compassion and kindness: forces which, unfortunately, Dementors seek to counter by their very nature. It is your power, Harry, not your fault.'

'My _power_?' Harry repeated disbelievingly, free for speech once more as Poppy took back the device. 'How can it be a _good_ thing that I can't be near a Dementor without completely losing it?'

Albus shook his head. 'You misunderstand me,' he said softly. 'I encourage you to continue your studies with Remus. I shall never advocate for a position which would leave you defenceless or ill. But I will not have you equate your emotional strength with magical shortcoming.'

Minerva turned to Poppy. 'Well?' she demanded, still looking cross.

The matron was frowning. 'It would be best if he came with me for the night,' she said firmly. 'He needs rest, and quiet.'

'I can _rest_ just as well in the Tower as anywhere!' Harry protested. 'Better, really, as I'll have my own bed.'

'With a House full of students fresh off summer holiday?' Minerva countered briskly. 'I do not think so, Harry.'

Albus was still studying the mediwitch. 'He is still running a temperature,' Poppy said in answer to his unspoken query. 'He needs potions and the _peaceful_ rest concomitant with their use. I cannot countenance his returning to the bustle of Gryffindor Tower tonight.'

Albus sighed. 'I'm afraid I must defer to Poppy's recommendation, Harry,' he told the recalcitrant teen. 'I would offer to take you up with me in lieu of hospital, but I am afraid I will need to speak further with the Minster this evening in London. As Minerva will need to be on hand should anything go amiss with your classmates, I too would feel most at ease if you were watched over tonight.'

Harry grumbled his disagreement, but allowed the mediwitch to lead him away without further argument.

Albus sighed as the door shut again, feeling a headache brewing behind his temple.

'A rather eventful start to the term,' Minerva remarked sardonically, pulling at a stray strand of hair that had come down from her bun.

'Leave it,' Albus said as she made to tuck the strand back up again. He caught the lock in his own fingers and laid it gently over her shoulder. 'I, for one, prefer your hair loose.'

'It only gets in the way,' Minerva groused. 'And it looks ridiculous.'

'You are too focused, my love, on the need for perfection. It is our idiosyncrasies that make us unique and remarkable.'

Minerva gave him half a smile, standing on tiptoe to brush his cheek with her lips.

'That would explain a great deal,' she said coyly. She sighed, taking his hand. The fire in the grate behind them crackled as a log shifted, sending a puff of cedar-scented smoke over their scene.

'Must you go back to Cornelius tonight?' she said anxiously. 'Surely the day has been long enough.'

'I am afraid so,' he sighed regretfully. 'Our previous conversation was rather abbreviated, with the need to see to the logistics of the evening. I should like to make the boundaries clear as we head into the start of lessons.'

'Let's hope today's was the last of unfortunate events, for the time being,' Minerva said quietly, running the fingers of her hand over his. 'I do not know how much more of this madness Harry can take; nor I.'

Albus was silent a moment, as he thought back on the currents of unrest that had permeated their feast… the Dementors on the train… and Little Hangleton, where he suspected a chain of darkest events had set them all on a path that would lead them through the deepest circles of Hell before they had a prayer of reaching a Heaven.

'Indeed,' he said at last, trying to inject a lightness into his voice that he did not feel. 'Indeed.'

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'Severus.'

The voice from the floo jolted Severus abruptly from his contemplation of the article. It had taken him hours to finally calm his House from the excitement of their arrival… and he'd spent the hour or so since feeding his ire as he read the latest drabble on Sirius Black's escape. Surprised, he laid aside the copy of _The Evening Prophet_ he'd been perusing and stood, setting the newsprint headline-down so that he would not have to glare into the moving picture of his enemy any longer.

'Poppy,' he greeted the mediwitch as he rose from the chair. 'Good evening.'

She smiled at him. 'Might I use the laboratory?' she asked briskly. 'With my nephew's birth so late this summer, I've still a few supplies that need stocking up for the term.'

Severus furrowed his brow. 'You might have sent word,' he said. 'I would have been happy to assist.'

'Nonsense,' she said dismissively. 'You'd done your part already. But I would like to finish up, if you don't mind?'

'Of course,' Severus said smoothly. 'Come through.'

The matron nodded, and a few moments later was brushing the remnants of ash from her sleeves.

'I shall join you, I think,' Severus decided on impulse. His mind was far too preoccupied with the continuation of Ministry incompetence. He would be more difficult than usual in his first lessons of term, if he continued in this train. 'I've a few projects I need to return to as well.'

Madam Pomfrey nodded, and the pair of them stepped through the door to the lab.

As a rule, Severus preferred to brew alone – much as he would prefer to spend most of his time. In a school full of whinging, bickering students and chaotic explosions of adolescent magic, finding quiet time to oneself was too often a pipedream. A few stolen hours with a journal or textbook… an afternoon of peace spent over a cauldron… Severus relished each opportunity with the appreciation of a man who knew such moments were fleeting. They had been even more precious of late, as he'd given up so much of the summer to tutoring and minding the Potter brat.

But he had never much minded sharing the laboratory with Poppy.

Severus had always liked Poppy. She was not friendly – exactly – but she was never difficult either. Unless one was under her assiduous care, of course. Poppy was content to allow companionable silence. She was competent with a cauldron. And she _never_ asked too many questions. In short, she was as amiable a companion in the laboratory as Severus was likely to get; and he found her presence rarely detracted from his own yearning for peace in the simmering cauldrons.

Tonight, the matron moved efficiently for the store cupboard, rummaging around for the ingredients she needed while Severus retrieved a stack of fresh cauldrons for them both. He took his turn with the supplies when she'd sorted her own, and tossed a reference text onto each work table in case it was needed. Poppy flipped hers to the appropriate page by memory, though he knew she was unlikely to use it… she was nearly as meticulous as himself.

'Are you in need of anything in particular?' Severus asked as he flipped through his own notes for something mindless.

'I thought you had projects to attend to?' Poppy said, looking up from her flames.

'I have several in progress,' he acknowledged. 'But nothing that cannot wait, if you have something urgent.'

She sighed. 'If you're sure, I do have a few potions I would like to get finished post-haste,' she admitted. 'I was intending to complete blood replenishing potion myself tonight… but perhaps you would consent to knock up a few basic antidotes?'

Severus inclined his head, reaching for the handwritten list she produced. He scrutinised the selection. 'I might add Tentacular Tonic,' he suggested mildly. 'I believe Pomona has several venomous specimens that will be teething this autumn.'

Madam Pomfrey huffed. 'Quite right,' she agreed with a nod. 'There's bound to be incidents.'

Severus gave a noise of agreement, and retrieved several additional ingredients from the stores. They worked in silence for a good two hours, exactly as he had hoped. Some of the tension of the past few weeks began to slip away in the routine of it all.

At last, Severus set the tonic to stew and started in on an antidote for accidental hair growth overdose. He broke the silence himself, somewhat to his own surprise.

'I should be able to complete the list by week-end, if you would prefer to leave it with me,' he offered.

'Oh, thank you, but that's quite alright,' Poppy replied with a small smile. 'After all, these first few days should be rather slow on over-night patients. It's usually just classroom accidents with the first form students in the beginning.'

'True,' Severus acknowledged, grimacing a little as his thoughts creeped back to the daunting task of inducting a new class of potential potions disasters. 'I suspect the quiet is refreshing.'

'Usually yes,' Poppy said, choosing a few springs of moondew for cutting. 'Of course, there's Harry to consider tonight, but I dare say he'll sleep through to morning.'

'Potter is in hospital?' the Potions master asked sharply. He paused in his measurement of essence of yew sap.

'Mm,' the matron agreed, without raising her eyes from the moondew.

'With what complaint?' asked Severus. His tone was a touch more aggressive than even he had expected, and Poppy finally looked up in surprise.

'Harry reacts rather badly to Dementors, it would seem,' she explained with raised eyebrows. 'I thought you would have known; I'm afraid it's been buzzing around the school since the students came off the train. He has been rather upset by the rumours. Poor lamb,' she finished with a shake of the head.

Severus rolled his eyes at the coddling. Of _course_ he'd known about the Dementors and Potter's latest contretemps… and he'd watched the petty teasing at dinner just like the rest of the castle; but that was immaterial. The tension he felt was little decreased.

'You've left him there with whom?' he tried to clarify, setting the beaker of sap aside.

Poppy frowned at him. 'I assure you, he's quite alright,' she said. 'He isn't all that poorly: a mild fever and some lingering malaise that a bit of rest should clear up. He's quite capable of spending a few hours on his own.'

But Severus was on his feet, suddenly more than tense. 'You left him. Alone,' he clarified, glaring down at the mediwitch. 'Potter.'

Poppy flinched back a bit, considering Severus' towering figure in alarm. 'Severus, what are you on about?' she scolded. 'Really – Harry is thirteen and not in any medical –'

' _Harry Potter_ ,' Severus snarled. 'The boy for whom the security of this entire _castle_ has been refashioned to keep safe from Sirius Black; the boy for whom Albus Dumbledore himself bends over backward to keep alive; the foolish, headstrong boy who _always_ manages to dance on Death's doorstep despite all our efforts… you have left _that_ child alone, in an unguarded and unlocked ward?'

Poppy's face seemed to pale a bit, though the set of her jaw was still firm. 'Severus, Sirius Black hasn't a prayer of entering this castle,' she said confidently. 'Dumbledore has seen to the wards himself. And I have monitoring charms set over the beds and at the door to the wing, as I always do when I leave for any stretch of time. I'll know if Harry awakens in any distress, or if another patient –'

But she was interrupted, as a high-pitched whistle begin emanating from the pocket of her robes. She sighed, digging out a small, opalescent disk glowing a light orange.

'Whisper near the goblin's lair,' the matron said with a grimace.

'What is it?' Severus asked in a clipped voice.

'He's likely out of bed,' she said with a sigh. 'Or a new student has arrived. I ought to go and have a look… would you mind finishing –'

'No, you stay,' Severus offered quickly. 'Finish your brewing. I shall check the ward.'

He wasn't sure why, exactly, he'd made the request. He did not particularly wish to deal with a convalescing Harry Potter again, and he _certainly_ had no interest in nursing any other sneezing, sniffling dunderhead that might have wandered into the ward after curfew.

And yet… he could not shake his sense of unease, leaving Potter, his puffed-up ego and his reckless abandon loose on his own in an unmonitored wing. Not when hundreds of pupils had poured into the castle, allegiances and influences unknown. Not when Potter was prone to escaping his confines. Not when Black had already gained access to the grounds once before.

Not while Black still _breathed._

'Are you sure, Severus?' Poppy asked, drawing Severus from his internal musings with a frown. 'It might be that Harry needs –'

'Quite sure,' Severus interrupted. He was already spelling his work station clean. 'I shall use the floo, if the situation is emergent.'

Severus took the glowing disk from Poppy's outstretched hand, ignoring her bemused expression. And he swept from the laboratory.

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Harry was bored.

Very, _very_ bored.

He didn't feel all that shaky anymore, whatever Madam Pomfrey's fussing and diagnostics seemed to indicate. He was fuming at the thought that all the other Gryffindors would be up in the Tower, exchanging summer news and discussing the upcoming term… while, perhaps, wondering why Harry Potter couldn't join them. He was even _more_ annoyed when he thought about the non-Gryffindor students, and wondered whether Draco Malfoy was entertaining a dungeon-full of Slytherins with more fantastical impressions of Harry collapsing as the Dementors drew near.

Just perfect.

He'd feigned slumber as Madam Pomfrey doused the lanterns in the wing; it was always easier than the battle involved if she found him awake and decided he ought to take a sleeping potion. Or, worse, if she forced another morsel of chocolate down his throat. Eventually, the matron had laid a hand on his forehead one more time, tutted to herself about the folly of under-cautious teachers and the danger of dark creatures set around a school, and bustled off to her office for the night.

That had been hours ago. But tired as Harry had been in the aftermath of the Dementors' attack, he couldn't get to sleep now. Instead, he tossed and turned in the little bed, dozing infrequently and wishing he had some means to distract himself.

As if on cue, the door to the hospital wing burst open, banging so hard off the wall that Harry started upright against the iron bedframe.

To his surprise, Ron stood on the threshold to the wing.

Ron was holding a bloodied cloth to his face, his head tipped slightly back. Harry thought it rather a miracle he hadn't broken his neck on the stairs, if he'd walked all the way down to the hospital wing like that.

'What's up with you?' he asked in surprise, as Ron flumped down into the chair next to Harry's bed.

'Got imba figh,' Ron said, voice muffled by the plethora of bloody fabric.

Harry frowned. 'Malfoy?' he said darkly, pushing himself up in the bed a bit.

Ron shook his head. 'Nebvil,' he muttered.

' _Neville_?' Harry repeated, dumbstruck. Then he laughed loudly – he couldn't help it.

Ron took the cloth away, scowling as he gingerly felt his nose. 'Yeah, take the mickey,' he said angrily. 'See if I ever defend your honour again.'

'Defend my _honour_?' Harry quoted, still struggling to pull himself together. 'Ugh! Nasty, mate!' he complained, as Ron tossed the used and disgusting flannel at him in temper and he scuttled off the bed in effort to avoid it.

'Neville's the one who told Malfoy about you – on the train,' Ron explained, wincing as he continued to feel his face. 'And I think he broke my sodding nose.'

 _That_ sobered Harry up. He stopped laughing immediately.

'What do you mean?' he asked, frowning. 'Why would Neville say something to Malfoy?'

Ron shrugged. He was having a hard time stemming his still oozing nose, now that he'd thrown the cloth away.

'Dunno,' he said thickly. 'He just came up to me in the dorm tonight to apologise. We were all up in the common room for a while, you know how it is. He claims Malfoy heard him asking Ginny about it as they walked down the corridor. Hermione _says_ it wasn't on purpose, but I just –'

'I'm sure it wasn't,' said Harry fairly, though he couldn't help the angry set of his jaw all the same. 'I should have expected it, I guess. But I was hoping nobody would talk too much about it outside the compartment.'

Ron grunted, still trying to stop the blood. Harry took pity on him and retrieved a fresh flannel from the side of the bowl on his nightstand. Ron took it gratefully.

'So, you socked him for it?' Harry asked, trying to get a head around the situation.

'Not exactly,' said Ron in chagrin. 'I sort of, shoved him a bit, I guess. Mostly I was just shouting. But when I shoved him, he cracked. Just swung round and thumped me, straight across the face. Never seen Neville do _anything_ like that. I was too surprised to even get him back. Then Dean and Seamus sort of burst in, and they pulled us off each other, and they ripped into Neville and Hermione ripped into me, and eventually I came down here.'

'To get away from Hermione,' Harry clarified, amused.

Ron glowered. 'To get my sodding nose fixed!' he countered. 'And yeah, to get out of the row,' he added grudgingly.

'You shouldn't have gone for him,' Harry said. 'Hermione's right – he doesn't mean any harm by it. But I wonder where he learned to swing like that?'

'Dunno, but he must have done this summer,' said Ron darkly.

'Still,' said Harry, with a faint smile. 'I appreciate you, er, "defending my honour," all the same, even if it did cost you your face.'

Ron snorted, then moaned.

'Bit stupid to snort with a broken nose,' Harry pointed out, trying hard to not laugh again.

'Piss off,' Ron muttered.

'Thirty points for fighting, Weasley,' a silky voice called from the door to the wing. 'And another fifteen for language.'

Harry grimaced, as Snape's tall, black-clad figure came sweeping over toward them, his eyes glinting with the enormous satisfaction he always got docking points from Gryffindor. His sneer turned at once to a glower as he caught sight of the bloodstained cloth upon the empty bed, and Harry standing barefoot in the corner.

'Potter,' he said in his most dangerous voice. 'I do not believe you have out-of-bed permissions.'

'No, sir,' Harry agreed resignedly. He lifted the cloth off the sheets with the tip of his wand, and pulled himself onto the bed.

Snape was checking his watch with one eyebrow raised. 'Six hours,' he noted, looking up.

'What?' Harry asked in confusion.

'Do not say "what," say "pardon,"' Snape corrected waspishly. 'And it is six whole hours before you found yourself here – that must be a record for you, Potter.'

Harry felt his face colour. He wondered whether Snape had come to the Hospital Wing just to bask in the glory of humiliating him further.

'Why are _you_ here, professor?' Ron challenged on Harry's behalf. 'Where's Madam Pomfrey?'

'Madam Pomfrey is brewing in the dungeons,' Snape explained, pointing a wand at a cupboard so that several supplies flew their way across to his palm. 'She has a monitoring charm on the ward, of course, so that she might know if the doors are opened, or if one of her patients is in distress,' he shot another amused smirk at Harry as he said the last. 'The blood replenishing potion she is attempting is at a delicate state, so she asked if I would _assist_ in ensuring Potter was not in mortal peril. It is, after all, at least three weeks since his last brush with death.'

Harry felt his embarrassment grow. Why hadn't the matron just left Snape to finish the brew instead? _He_ was the Potions master, after all, and _she_ had charge of the hospital wing. He wondered if Snape had volunteered for the task, just because Harry was the patient. Perhaps the prospect of goading him when he was flat on his back was just too much temptation to resist.

'I'm _fine_ , sir,' he said through gritted teeth.

'So it would appear,' Snape agreed in a bored voice. 'Although, if you do not fall asleep on your own in the next ten minutes, I may decide you need another potion to get your rest,' he threatened with a pointed look. 'Weasley, stop cowering and move into the light, unless you would prefer to keep your nose off-centre.'

Ron groused a bit, but he slid forward on the chair so that Snape could examine his face. The Potions master cleared the blood with a lazy flick of his wand, and pointed the tip at Ron's nose.

' _Episkey_!' he said firmly. There was a nasty cracking sound and a roared oath from Ron, as his nose straightened out again.

'Another fifteen points,' Snape said. 'My, my, already into the negatives so early in the term. Two records in one day.'

Ron glowered, but wisely refrained from comment. Snape jerked his head toward the bed next to Harry's.

'You can stay the night too, Weasley,' he said silkily. 'As you worked so hard to get down here.'

He straightened up as Ron climbed into the bed, then passed him a phial of what Harry recognised as pain potion. 'For any lingering discomfort,' he said sardonically.

'You might have given it to me _before_ you set my nose,' Ron grumbled in irritation, but he took the potion all the same. Snape, meanwhile, ignored Ron and pressed a long-fingered hand to Harry's brow.

'I'm _fine_ ,' Harry repeated, annoyed. Snape scowled, flicking his wand toward the cupboard again. Another phial shot into his grasp.

'And yet, despite your stellar record in making good judgments for yourself, it is _my_ opinion that matters,' the Potions master said with another dangerous smirk, passing the phial to Harry. 'Fever Reducer, Potter, and if I see _you_ out of bed again tonight, I shall be sure to insist Poppy keep you to the week-end for further observation.'

Harry snatched the potion with a scowl of his own, but he too refused to rise to the bait. He would _not_ give Malfoy the satisfaction of learning Harry Potter was confined to bedrest for the whole first day of lessons.

'I shall be in the office,' Snape continued when it became clear neither would speak. 'If you need further assistance.'

And without another word to either of them, he swept for Madam Pomfrey's usual door.

'Git,' Ron muttered under his breath to Harry, as the office door closed sharply behind Snape.

Harry sighed, rolling over as sleep finally took him.

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 _Sirius was bouncing a leg against the bench, anxious and excited as he stared around the candlelit Great Hall. The sea of pointed hats, the star-strewn sky, the imposing headmaster resplendent in robes of sweeping violet… everything was as wonderful and as comforting as he had always hoped it would be. For the first time in months, perhaps in years, he felt a perfect contentment that sang of homecoming; no matter that this was his very first hour in the school._

 _And, best of all, he'd been Sorted to Gryffindor._

 _'Pettigrew, Peter,' the tall, beautiful, and very stern-looking witch – Professor McGonagall, Sirius thought she was called – cried out from her place at the stool._

 _A short and rather plump little boy with mousy hair started forward with an audible squeal. Sirius had been watching this boy, as he was next to James in the queue to be Sorted. He'd been turning whiter and whiter as the alphabet dwindled… and now he was positively green._

 _As Professor McGonagall made to set the Hat upon his head, the boy suddenly pitched forward with an odd sort of noise. The professor pulled the Hat away quickly, as the flagstones were spewed with sick._

 _Some of the watching students made sounds of disgust or sympathy; others laughed. Sirius himself was stunned into open-mouthed astonishment, as the fat little boy cupped a hand to his mouth in horror, popped off the stool, and ran toward the door to the Hall._

 _More students began to laugh at the awkward flight, until the headmaster cleared his throat and clapped his hands twice for silence. A pretty young woman in a matron's robe went bustling off after the fleeing boy. McGonagall watched her out of sight in bemusement and mild concern, before returning with a small shake of her head to her list._

 _'Potter, James,' she called out instead, and James Potter strode confidently up to the Hat._

 _Sirius stopped his bouncing, crossing his fingers as he shut his eyes in hope…_

 _'Gryffindor!' the Hat cried out seconds later, and a roar of applause welcomed James to the table._

 _'Worried?' he quipped, dropping onto the bench at Sirius' right._

 _'I don't worry, Potter,' Sirius assured him loftily. But he clapped him on the back all the same._

 _They watched while the rest of their class was sorted, right through 'Zimmerman, Yolanda.' Then the matron led out the unfortunate boy again, and there was a muted echo of the previous reactions._

 _Sirius chuckled a bit himself, as McGonagall set the Hat on the boy's head. It flopped down well over his ears, until only a double-chin was visible beneath the rim. 'Poor bloke,' he said through his amusement to James. 'But honestly, what an entrance!'_

 _The Hat was silent nearly five minutes. People across the hall began to whisper, then to mutter, then to debate the situation so loudly that the headmaster had to clap his hands once again before silence fell._

 _'Do you think he's broken it?' James asked in an undertone._

 _'Maybe it's angry it was almost a basin,' Sirius suggested in a whisper, biting his tongue to keep from laughing again._

 _'Pipe down,' a dark-haired girl suggested from the Ravenclaw table, turning an angry glare on them. And Sirius was silent._

 _'Gryffindor!' the Hat announced at last. Their table gave another resounding round of applause, as the little Peter Pettigrew shuffled as fast as he could out of the spotlight. McGonagall carted off the stool and Sorting Hat, and the plump boy sighed in relief as he took a seat directly to Sirius' left._

 _'You Welsh?' Sirius asked, his grey eyes dancing in amusement. Beside him, James Potter put a fist to his mouth to hide his laughter._

 _The boy looked confused. 'N-no,' he said, biting at his lip. 'I'm from Ulster.'_

 _James burst into true laughter now, nearly falling off the bench as he struggled for composure. A red-haired girl Sirius recognised from the train – Lily – snapped her head around from gazing across the Hall to frown angrily at Sirius over the table._

 _'You shouldn't be so cruel,' she told him scathingly. 'He can't help that he's nervous. Is it nice to tease him so on our very first night?'_

 _James managed to collect himself at last, cocking his head as he considered the girl._

 _'It's only a bit of fun,' he said with a shrug._

 _The mousy-haired boy was looking between them as though he still didn't get the joke. But his cheeks pinked up a bit as it began obvious it was at his expense._

 _'It happens a lot,' he mumbled, as the headmaster got to his feet in welcome. 'When I'm getting scared. And I was terrified I'd be –'_

 _'Ssh!' a wan-looking boy with sandy hair hushed them from a few seats down across the table._

 _'Who are you?' Sirius grumbled back in annoyance._

 _The boy smiled. 'Remus Lupin,' he said softly. 'And sorry, but the headmaster's waiting on us.'_

 _Sirius looked up. Sure enough, Albus Dumbledore was glancing their way, a twinkle in his ice-blue eyes that was_ not _matched in the stern green gaze of their new Head of House. Sirius swallowed self-consciously._

 _'A wonderful thing,' the headmaster began with a smile, widening his arms and his gaze to embrace the room, 'To see so many new and eager faces among us. I shall not keep you over-long from our excellent Start of Term feast or your stimulating conversations. But I should like, first, to welcome you to another year at Hogwarts!'_

 _There was a smattering of applause and several cheers, and the headmaster allowed a few moments of the chaos before raising a hand again._

 _'Though I know many have been through difficult times of late, I wish to remind all of you that you shall always have a home and a place at this castle. I toast to a successful academic year, and the prospect of peace between all kinds.'_

 _He raised a goblet in recognition as he finished the words, and most of the assembled staff and students followed suit, drinking deeply. With another smile, the headmaster clapped his hands once, and a plethora of delicious food popped into existence along the table. Sirius dove for the nearest plate of sausages, ravenous from the long train journey._

 _'Won't miss Kreacher's cooking,' he said in an undertone to James as he began stuffing his face._

 _'Kreacher?' James repeated curiously as he selected his own sausage with slightly more reserve._

 _'This mad elf of my parents',' Sirius explained, passing the plate along to an older boy he hadn't yet met. 'He's in love with my brother, Reg, but he's never liked me much. I think he charms my food out of spite.'_

 _James chucked again, passing the potatoes. 'Never had that problem at mine,' he admitted. 'Our elves are the best.'_

 _'What was the headmaster talking about?' Peter put in, accepting the potatoes timidly from James._

 _Sirius and James both turned in surprise. 'You hadn't heard?' Sirius asked disbelievingly. 'It's been all over the_ Prophet _, and they still haven't caught them._ '

 _'Caught who?' Lily put in, leaning over toward them. Beside her, a petite girl with long blonde curls frowned._

 _'You shouldn't,' the new girl said in an undertone. 'It's not decent chat for supper.'_

 _'Who are you?' James asked._

 _'Marlene,' she said confidently. 'But most everyone calls me Marley. That's my brother there,' she added, jerking her head toward the unknown boy that Sirius had given the bangers._

 _'Well, they've got to hear sometime, Marley,' said James reasonably._

 _'Yes, but –'_

 _'There was an attack last month,' Sirius said in a conspiratorial whisper. 'In Tinworth, down by Cornwall.'_

 _'An attack?' Peter squeaked, looking horrified._

 _'Isn't that where the gas leak was?' asked Lily in confusion._

 _'Gas leak?' James repeated curiously. 'How does gas "leak"? Like a botched potion some nutter left out?'_

 _Lily scoffed. 'No,' she said in a patronising voice. 'Gas like from the pipes – in houses. I heard on the wireless that there was a massive leak out by Cornwall over the summer; carbon monoxide, I think they thought it was. A lot of people lost their lives.'_

 _Sirius and James exchanged dumbfounded looks. 'Er – ' Sirius said doubtfully, 'I dunno. Might be the story the Ministry gave out to cover it up, but it's not what the_ Prophet _said.'_

 _'What's the_ Prophet _say?' Peter asked, infatuated._

 _'That it was wizards,' James put in. 'A gang of them, apparently. They say the men came in the night, and went house to house… they tortured the people living there for hours, and then they killed them. Put some sort of brand up over the houses of the dead, to mark where they'd murdered.'_

 _Peter's eyes had gone so wide, Sirius feared he might vomit again. 'But… but_ why _?' he asked in a shrill voice._

 _Sirius shrugged. 'That's just it,' he said. 'Nobody really knows. They were Muggles, mostly, the ones that died. But Tinworth's a mixed settlement. A few wizards copped it too –'_

 _'Like my grandparents,' Marley interrupted in an angry hiss. Sirius broke off, torn between surprise and chagrin._

 _'I, I'm sorry,' he said quietly. And he meant it. She crossed her arms and glared at him. Lily placed a sympathetic hand on her arm._

 _'There were sixteen that died,' Marley told Peter shortly. She didn't look tearful – only angry. Sirius felt his face grow hot in discomfort. 'Twelve Muggles, and four wizards. The Ministry told my mum they think it was supposed to be an anti-Muggle crime, but the wizards got in the way.'_

 _'That's… that's awful,' said Lily. 'Why would someone_ do _something like that? I mean, lots of wizards are Muggle-born, aren't they?'_

 _'Yes,' said Sirius. 'But there are some wizards that think we ought to be a pure-blood society; not integrate with Muggles at all,' he clarified. 'It's sick, really, but every once in a while some nutter goes off the deep end with this pure-blood mania, and sometimes they go further than just mad speech.'_

 _'This is the first mass killing in decades though,' James added. 'That's what has the Ministry in such an uproar. There's a lot of pressure to find whoever did it. My dad does some business with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and they've been working round the clock for weeks now.'_

 _'They don't_ know _who did it?' Lily asked in horror._

 _'No,' Sirius said, shaking his head. 'The wizards that broke into the houses were all in masks, apparently, and hooded cloaks. Witnesses weren't even sure whether they were all men – there might have been some witches mixed in too. But they say there was a leader… the only one without a mask to hide his face. A wizard tall as Dumbledore, pale as death, with eyes that gleam in the darkness. They say the others called him the Dark Lord.'_

 _'Lord Voldemort,' James clarified, his face more serious than Sirius had yet seen it. 'That's what my dad says he's called.'_

 _Marley shivered. 'Don't say his name,' she begged. 'It feels… it's wrong, somehow.'_

 _'We should talk of something else,' a new voice put in._

 _Sirius glanced across the table to see the sandy-haired boy, Remus, had been watching them. He was frowning slightly. 'Marley is right,' he opined. 'It probably isn't good chat for supper on our first night at school. Are you – are you looking forward to lessons?' he asked the group at large._

 _Sirius straightened up from his huddle, as the conversation became lighter again for some time. James and Remus were engaged in a debate about the merits of Transfiguration versus charms, while Lily was now talking quietly with a still shaken-looking Marlene and a couple other new Gryffindor girls. Sirius helped himself to some of the chocolate-drenched profiteroles that had popped in to replace the plate of meats, and turned to Peter again._

 _'So,' he said conversationally, tucking his legs underneath him, 'Why is it you were afraid to be Sorted?'_

 _The round-faced boy went pink again. 'Oh... it's nothing really,' he mumbled._

 _'Do tell,' said Sirius around a mouthful of pastry. 'Isn't like it matters now – you're in Gryffindor, after all. Unless you were hankering to be somewhere else.'_

 _'Not… not that,' Peter said, twisting his hands in his lap. 'I was worried I'd not be Sorted at all, you see. I… I didn't show magic until quite late. Not until last summer, actually.'_

 _Sirius shrugged, washing down the treat with a swig of iced pumpkin juice. 'That happens, sometimes. Doesn't usually mean anything about what you'll become. And they don't let non-magical students in,' he reminded the boy. 'You have to go somewhere, if you've been accepted.'_

 _'Yes,' Peter agreed, a bit more happily. 'And at least I wasn't in Slytherin, in the end. It took the Hat ages to decide… Mum won't be too pleased, I don't think, but –'_

 _'Your mum wanted you in Slytherin?' Sirius asked in surprise._

 _Peter nodded. 'Well, I don't think she'll really mind, I guess. But she's Slytherin, and so were her parents. Guess it's sort of family tradition for them.'_

 _'What about your father?' Sirius asked curiously._

 _Peter shook his head. 'I dunno,' he admitted. 'He left when I was three. Mum never talks about him. It was just us. She's a bit… well, she likes things just so,' he admitted. 'I've never been all that great at anything. I'm not ambitious enough for Slytherin… but I don't think I'm quite brave enough for Gryffindor, either. Still,' he added hopefully, 'I think I'll be better able to get on with you lot.'_

 _Sirius considered the boy more closely. There was something sort of sad about him, like a puppy that'd been left in the rain._

 _'My parents will be livid,' he admitted with a grin, offering up the plate of profiteroles. 'At least, I hope so.'_

 _Peter took one of the pastries with a curious raised eyebrow._

 _'They're_ all _Slytherins,' Sirius explained. 'The lot of them – to the core. My entire family has been for generations; at least, as far as I know. Father's liable to write a howler first thing once he hears I'm here.'_

 _'Don't…' Peter looked nervous again. 'Don't you_ care _, if it'll make your father so angry?'_

 _Sirius laughed, brushing his hair out of his eyes. 'Making my father angry is basically a daily duty,' he admitted. 'It'll be the best laugh I've had in years.'_

 _Peter looked doubtful as he took another pastry._

 _'They can't be that bad,' he said._

 _'Oh, they can,' Sirius contradicted bitterly. 'That pure-blood tosh we were on about? They love it.' Peter's eyes widened in fear. 'Not like what happened in Tinworth,' Sirius clarified quickly. 'No, my father's much too prim to bloody his hands like that. But they think the nutters are gripping the right end of the broomstick, mark my words. And they'll not interfere if things get nasty.'_

 _'I can't imagine that,' said Peter with a shudder. 'You don't – you don't really think it'll get that bad, do you? Like it did on the Continent with Grindelwol?'_

 _'Grindelwald,' Sirius corrected. 'And I don't know,' he admitted with a shrug. 'Might be this was just a one-time thing… might be it's just the beginning.'_

 _Peter shuddered again, and Sirius grinned._

 _'Buck up,' he told him with a clap on the back. 'This is the House of the Lion; you're going to have to learn to be brave.'_

 _'More roaring, less squealing,' James put in with a laugh, apparently having caught the tail end of the conversation. He tossed one of the profiteroles at Remus, who'd come round to join their side of the bench as well. The sandy-haired boy caught it with a grin._

 _'I don't know if I know how,' Peter admitted, twisting his hands again._

 _'Stick with us,' Sirius said confidently, grabbing for a fourth helping of pudding. 'And you will, mate.'_

 _'Mate…' Peter repeated quietly, reaching for another pastry himself. 'Yeah, alright then.'_

 _Sirius considered the round face, so alight with a curious happiness…_

 _And it twisted, and morphed…_

 _And it wasn't innocent any longer… the boy who'd longed for inclusion and companionship was gone; had altered. Altered so completely that this man was a stranger._

 _No longer a puppy in the rain, but a Rat – cornered and rabid in the gutter…_

 _'Peter!' Sirius snarled as soon as he materialised._

 _He slammed the anti-apparition warded stone into the middle of the Ulster street. A golden field shot out like a ripple from its centre, rumbling the very cobblestones as the ward took hold, fifty yards in each direction. The rat stopped in his tracks, panting, as he turned to face his nemesis._

 _Tear-streaked cheeks and pleading eyes did nothing for Sirius now. All he could see were the signs of life: lips trembling and wet, eyes darting about for an escape that was impossible, pulse beating against a sweaty neck, breaths heaving in a chest where a heart thumped so loud that he could almost taste the traitor's blood… The paltry signs of an existence undeserved; a life bargained for in blood; a despicable foil to the cold, unmoving bodies of Lily and James he'd left last night in a ruined cottage._

 _No more._

 _'Sirius,' Peter greeted him, his eyes wide with panic and his voice a high rasp. 'Sirius, no –'_

 _Sirius snapped, slicing his wand through the air. 'Don't you speak, you snivelling excuse for a wizard!'_

 _A thin line of scarlet appeared across the rat's cheek, and he gave a yelp of pain as his hand flew to it._

 _'Sirius, please… please! Don't kill me, don't –'_

 _'You deserve it,' Sirius growled, inching closer with his wand outstretched._

 _People were flooding the street now, Muggles coming out of their houses and shops as the city was bathed in the burning scarlet of setting sun, pointing and shouting as they took in the scene – afraid to approach the brawl._

 _'You deserve to die squealing and begging at my feet, like you've cowered at the skirts of your betters your entire existence!' Sirius went on, continuing his slow march forward._

 _Pettigrew backed up a step, breathing loudly through his mouth as his eyes scanned the growing crowd. 'Help!' he shouted desperately. 'Please, help!'_

 _Two burly men stepped forward. Sirius swung his wand around, creating a magical barrier that the Muggles could not pass. It would not do to spill more innocent blood._

 _'There is no one,' he spat in a sinister growl, 'Who could save you from me, Peter. Nobody left to cower behind.'_

 _The rat began to sob, his knees quaking beneath him. His eyes still roved desperately around the gathered crowd._

 _'Lily and James, Sirius,' he moaned. 'Lily and James...'_

 _'Yes,' Sirius snarled hatefully, raising his wand. 'Lily is dead, Peter._ James _is dead. And so now, it is_ your _turn to die! You must have known it would come to –'_

 _'Lily and James!' Peter repeated, his voice even louder as he shouted over Sirius'. 'Sirius, how could you? Murderer!'_

 _Sirius froze, the very curse on his lips, his eyes widening just a fraction as realisation and horror stayed his hand. Vaguely, he registered a sound like fireworks, as dozens of wizards in Ministry robes apparated just beyond his ward._

 _And then the world exploded._

 _In the fraction of a heartbeat that he'd hesitated, Peter Pettigrew – who never did_ anything _without someone pushing him out the door, who never learned_ any _spell on his first attempt, who had once, so long ago, vomited in the face of that which he feared – found a surge of magic that Sirius would not have thought possible._

 _In a blast like cannon fire, half the street was incinerated. Bodies and blood littered the stones and the sides of the half-ruined buildings. Screams rent the night. Sirius himself was blown backward off his feet, unable in his shock to even cushion his fall. He tasted blood as he smashed to the kerb – shockingly intact, despite the devastation around him. He pulled himself to his feet again in moments._

 _He could_ not _let the rat escape._

 _Darting forward, he saw that the place that Peter had stood had sunk – six feet down to the sewer below, where a pipe was cracked and oozing. He searched the earth desperately, but Peter's voice was lost in the squeaks of the dozens of nasty creatures disappearing into the tubes._

 _Just visible, at the edge of the crater, was one lone, severed finger._

 _And Sirius threw back his head and roared. Roared with a manic, humourless laughter… as the Ministry wizards surrounded him._

 _The lion, bested by the rat._

Sirius came to in sweat and screams again, twisted and contorted by the nightmare in his forest cave.

The Welcoming Feast…

The Rat.

He was here.

At Hogwarts.

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 22:**

 **AlsoKnownAsMatt** : Thank you for your review and comments! I appreciate your mixed reactions, and some of this (I think) will be resolved in this chapter, as I truncated Chapter 22 for length reasons. The Time-Turner situation… yes, it's one of my own personal gripes with JKR's universe, but I did not wish to eliminate its use entirely. It's interesting that you see it as a mystery device… I always saw it more as a means to resolve the Sirius debacle, but your theory makes sense too. My view on this was not that the Ministry gave the timepiece to a Muggle-born, but rather that they reached an agreement with Professor McGonagall. If JKR's logic holds true, then both Percy and Bill Weasley must have used Time-Turners as well, in order to achieve 12 O.W.L.s. I'll put a pin in that line of discussion for a moment, as I think we'll see aspects of that connection play out later.

The news on Harry's collapse: actually, in canon POA, Draco's remark is 'You _fainted_ , Potter? Is Longbottom telling the truth?!' – which would seem to imply that it was Neville who leaked the story. I assumed that Harry figured out in canon that it was Neville, given this taunt, but it's never addressed again. I eliminated Neville's name from Malfoy's taunting in Chapter 22, but you'll see the resolution of that aspect of the event in this chapter.

The issue over Harry's reaction to the dementors is _definitely_ not over… though, I think, Minerva wanted to spare him further embarrassment. I struggled a bit with this one, because I was in half a mind that Minerva would insist he go to hospital… but I think you'll see it is more of a _delay_ than an actual 'Alright, you're free to go.' Mostly, I just felt poor Harry had spent an awful lot of time dealing with injuries and illness this summer already; and I had an idea I wanted to play out with regards to this particular incident.

Glad you enjoyed the Little Hangleton scenes… it is a bit that I'd been looking forward to ever since Albus and Gellert's exchange on the murder of the Riddles in Part One. It won't be the last we'll see of the village, although I'm not sure if we'll see the patrons of The Hanged Man again… we'll have to see.

Enjoy Chapter 23!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for your review! I'm glad you liked the chapter. Yes, Harry will be using the Time-Turner… at least a bit. Will everything go according to plan? Are you reading the same story I am? ;) Surely, there will be some drama. As to why Dumbledore was in Little Hangleton… he is following up on his discussion with Grindelwald in Chapter 29 of Part One, where they discussed Voldemort's creation of the diary-Horcrux with his father and grandparents' murders. He is investigating Voldemort's history… but no, I don't think there's any thought yet that Voldemort might be using the house, as he's still in Albania.

The life Harry might have had if Lily and James had survived is a central theme for a lot of this book… particularly evident in the flashback sequences. I won't give anything away as to the resolution of Sirius's story; but I promise that Albus is not going anywhere.

Enjoy Chapter 23!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm very glad to hear you are liking the story so much, and happy that you're enjoying each chapter! I hope this continues to hold true as our tale moves forward.

 **AECM** : Thank you for your review and your kind thoughts! Well, I think you'll see how your queries play out in this next chapter… but I hope you enjoy it! Very glad you're liking the story so far.

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thank you for reviewing and for your well wishes! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. Originally, Chapter 22 included a bit at the beginning where Albus was contemplating the trip to Little Hangleton… I eliminated it as I thought it dragged the chapter on a bit long, but perhaps in retrospect it encouraged too much of a leap for readers. The reason Albus went, as I think you might glean a bit from Chapter 23, is because of the conversation he has with Grindelwald in Part One, Chapter 29 ('The House-elf and The Horcrux') concerning Voldemort's creation of the diary with the Riddles' deaths. He is attempting to follow Gellert's advice about learning more about Voldemort himself – his past, his desires, etc., and that path takes him to Little Hangleton. It's something I think we might have seen him do earlier, if the summer hadn't been filled with so many other concerns for the headmaster and for Harry. I'm also glad you liked the townsfolk characters… it is, at least in my experience as a Londoner, _very_ typical of country villages for locals to act in such a way.

Also glad you liked the bit with Remus: I think his presence is certainly the only way Albus and Minnie would have agreed to the journey after the events of July and August, but also comes in _very_ handy given the dementors' presence on the train. You are correct in your analysis – this story is a lot about keeping many of the canon elements, but evolving the story based on the changing relationships between the characters and their development.

Enjoy Chapter 23!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thank you for the review and kind thoughts! We're quite excited to begin the shopping and 'nesting'! Hope you like how the story continues!


	24. Divining The Future

**A/N** : Hello everyone! Several weeks of break, I know, and I do apologise… Long A/N below – skip it if you don't want to read it.

So part of the delay on this chapter (beyond all the 'real life' insanity) was that I was suddenly struck with the most marvellous idea for the next book (Part III), which caused me to rewrite an introductory chapter I'd had written for six months… which led to a new second chapter as well… which then led me to alter something in this chapter… and anyway, it was round and round we went for quite a while until at last I thought things were sorted. Incidentally, we're such a long way off from the start of the next book (probably at least new year), but I cannot _wait_ for you all to see it! I think you'll really enjoy where that book will take us and the POVs that bring us there. I actually think the first two chapters of that book have been my favourite things I've written thus far!

In the meantime, I shall have to balance my excitement about reaching those new chapters with my desire to never rush a project at the expense of the writing… and hopefully we'll soldier on together.

Finally, I don't know how many of you have had a chance to see _Fantastic Beasts_ as yet, but two things on that score. 1) If you haven't seen it, you should – it's wonderful and quite Rowling; 2) if you _have_ seen it, then you may have caught by now that it actually provides the answer we have been working toward as to how (other than his highly useful eagle) Gellert Grindelwald manages to know quite a bit more than he should! A happy coincidence I was most excited to see.

In any case, I've ranted long enough, and I'm sure you're all anxious for the next instalment… Thank you to everyone who reviewed Chapter 23! Comments to individual reviewers are at the end of the chapter. I hope you all like this next chapter, and please do read and review!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 24: Divining the Future**

Professor Trelawney's classroom was exceedingly hot and stuffy. Set atop North Tower, Harry expected there would be significant breeze, but it seemed Sybill was not overly fond of the outdoors. The round room was darkened despite the brightness of the day outside; thick curtains pulled across every window. The scarlet of the curtains and the shawls draped over various lamps cast an odd, blood-coloured glow over the space. Candles flickered in sconces and on little round tables set low into the floor, around which poufs and cushions were arranged like some sort of Middle Eastern lounge. The room had three hearths, all glowing with some sort of purple, perfumed fire. The overwhelming effect reminded Harry strongly of a hookah restaurant back in Surrey: a place he'd only ever seen from the outside, as it was Uncle Vernon's second-least favourite location in town, behind wherever Harry happened to be.

'Good morning, and welcome to the subtle and curious art of Divination.'

The ethereal voice came from the shadows, and more than a few students started in surprise. Harry, who had recognised Professor Trelawney's mystic tone, was a bit less shocked than everyone else when she stepped smoothly into the candlelight.

Most of the class looked intimidated and more than a little apprehensive as Professor Trelawney made her way down the raised levels between the poufs. Harry could understand the sentiment. Just as she had been the previous summer, the professor was draped in innumerable scarves and shawls, with dozens of beaded necklaces and bangles tinkling as she walked. Her dark green eyes were magnified ten times over by thick spectacles, and she did not seem to blink as she surveyed the faces of her new pupils.

'It is lovely to see you all at last; in the physical sense, at least,' Professor Trelawney said enigmatically. 'I do not often descend from my tower, you understand. I find that mixing with the mundane chaos of the general school clouds my Inner Eye.'

Ron gave a muffled snort from beside Harry. Most of the class, however, looked deeply impressed. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, who were seated a few poufs away, leaned in eagerly with expressions of wonder.

'You will find,' the seer continued, turning at last at the front of the room to face them, 'That Divination is much less a field of magical study than an art form; a way of life. I can instruct you, of course, on how to use your talents… but I cannot bestow upon you the gift of the Sight. It is something you are born with: a burden granted to few. Books, exams, even wandwork will be of little use to you here.'

Beside him, Harry saw Hermione give a disbelieving squirm, as she caressed the cover of _Unfogging the Future_. He exchanged an amused grin with Ron.

Professor Trelawney proceeded to give them a broad introduction to Divination, her speech spattered with a few ominous predictions that had most of the class shivering and Hermione tutting disbelievingly under her breath. Then she set them all to drinking cups of tea, from which they were to read the leaves of their partners.

''S too hot,' Ron complained, sticking out his tongue in protest as he tried to gulp from his cup.

Harry grimaced, pulling his attention back to their table and away from the pandemonium around Neville's, where he'd smashed his second cup in as many minutes.

'Maybe we won't have to do it, if it takes the whole lesson to cool,' he put in hopefully, dunking a spoon into his own tea in a half-hearted effort to draw out the heat.

'Oh, rubbish,' said Hermione impatiently. She removed Harry's spoon, whipped out her wand, and cast a simple cooling charm over each of their cups.

'My dear!' Professor Trelawney exclaimed, sweeping over toward their poufs and looking scandalised. 'No… no, no! You mustn't mix the ethereal and the mundane! You will risk upsetting the delicate balance of the clairvoyant auras!'

Hermione wrinkled her nose. 'But that's just silly,' she insisted, tucking her wand away again. 'The tea's too hot to drink else. And besides, the leaves are _already_ in the cup, aren't they? They're hardly going to shift just because the tea has cooled.'

Professor Trelawney shook her head in a tragic sort of way, but glided off toward Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown without further comment.

Harry and Ron stared at Hermione.

'What?' she challenged, snatching her cup off the table with a glare.

'Er, nothing,' said Harry quickly. He reached for his own tea, draining it as quickly as he could. When they'd finished, the three of them passed the cups clockwise.

The lumpy tea leaves at the bottom of the cup looked to Harry to be exactly that: mushed up tea leaves. He could no sooner see shapes in the dregs than he could have performed Legilimency on Snape.

'What do you reckon?' asked Ron, looking up from his contemplation of Harry's cup with a similar blank stare.

Harry glanced around. Hermione had set Ron's cup aside completely with a little huff of disapproval and was now flipping through the assigned pages as if hoping the answer would present itself. Most of the rest of the class were scrutinising their partners' teacups with furrowed brows, or otherwise bent so low over _Unfogging the Future_ that only the tops of their heads were visible.

Harry sighed. 'I've got nothing,' he admitted to Hermione. 'You're out of tea.'

'Focus beyond the mundane, children,' Professor Trelawney's voice called out from over the crowd. Neville, who had not noticed the seer at his back, jumped so violently he sent a third teacup to shatter on the floor. 'Allow your mind to open to the possibilities of the portents of the universe.'

Hermione scoffed audibly again. Harry shook himself.

'Er – right,' he said, bending over the cup again. But before he could 'read' anything in the lump of soggy detritus, Professor Trelawney swept over to their table, swiping Harry's own teacup out of Ron's hand. She peered at the base of the cup through her oversized lenses, twisting it this way and that. Then she let out a dramatic gasp, tears filling her eyes as she lowered the cup with trembling hand…

Half an hour later, Harry, Ron and Hermione trailed the unusually silent class down the ladder in short temper. Hermione and Ron were bickering incessantly, and most of the rest of their form mates were darting mistrustful and fearful looks Harry's way every few feet. He was trying his best to appear unconcerned… but his thoughts were in tumult.

 _Was Trelawney a true seer, the kind that Dumbledore swore were real? Or was McGonagall right… was she nothing but an old fraud?_

The Grim…

Harry had never heard of it before. Most of the other students had seemed shocked – even terrified – when Trelawney had made the pronouncement. Only the Muggle-born students, like Hermione, seemed to think it sceptical at all. Even Ron was having trouble looking him in the eye.

And Harry couldn't help but remember… that beast on Magnolia Crescent…

 _But, that dog had charged Snape; had bitten him. The Grim was supposed to be a spectre, wasn't it? An omen? So how could it have bitten a live person?_

'Harry!' Hermione hissed sharply at him. Harry was brought out of his musings with a jolt.

'Er – pardon?' he said, looking at her stern expression in surprise.

'I _said_ ,' she began in an irritated tone, 'That I have to pop in the loo.'

Harry felt his face grow warm. 'Er – ok,' he said, not getting the point. 'Did you want us to wait for you or do you want to –'

'Don't you have to go?' she asked pointedly. Ron, who still had his arms crossed at the recent row, dropped his mouth in indignation.

'Hermione!' he said in shock. 'I think Harry can –'

'Not really,' Harry answered honestly, in confusion. Hermione's glare intensified.

'But you just said,' she continued through gritted teeth, ignoring Ron, 'That you were going to duck in before our _next class_.'

And the switch clicked in Harry's preoccupied brain.

'Oh!' he said, 'Oh, right. Yeah. I did have to go.'

Ron stared between the two of them with narrowed eyes. 'What's going –'

But Harry allowed Hermione to take his hand, tugging him back up the corridor. 'We'll catch you up Ron!' he called back, as they sprinted around the corner.

'Oof – Gerroff Hermione, I'm coming,' he grumbled, pulling his wrist out of her grasp as they ducked out of sight. He rubbed at his shoulder with a scowl, where it felt like she'd nearly pulled his arm from its socket.

'Honestly, you can be as thick as him sometimes,' she chastised, slipping open the door to a darkened classroom. 'Come on – we've only ten minutes.'

Harry continued to mutter darkly, but he followed her inside. 'We're going to have a job keeping this from him,' he observed, watching Hermione with trepidation as she fumbled with the chain of the Time-Turner.

'We will if _you_ can't remember the schedule,' she pointed out with another glare. 'Here, cop hold.'

Harry took the chain she passed him, pulling it over his own neck. He had to stand quite close to her to manage it.

'Ready?' she asked him. He nodded, and watched her spin the little hourglass twice.

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It was a very unnerving sensation. Harry felt as if he was rushing backward very quickly through an odd tunnel of sound and colour, though he could feel his feet solid on the ground. After a few moments, the classroom came back into focus. The lighting was just a bit altered through the windows along the side, but otherwise it appeared quite the same.

'Er – are you sure it's worked?' he asked as Hermione lifted the chain from around his neck.

'I think so,' she said, glancing at the window. 'Let's go – Arithmancy is all the way on the other side of the school.'

'Right,' said Harry, still trying to wrap his head around what they'd done.

Hermione pulled the door open again and led the way into the corridor. He followed her back up the way they'd come, then nearly ran into her as she put a hand out to stop them at the corner.

'Wait a moment,' she said in a whisper. 'I'm listening.'

'For what?'

'For _us_ ,' she clarified, cocking her head toward the turn in the corridor.

'For –'

'We came this way up to North Tower,' Hermione explained, correctly anticipating his confusion. 'We've got to make sure the class has all finished heading toward the stairs, or we'll get awkward questions.'

'R-right,' said Harry. This whole time travel thing was still terribly confusing, whatever Hermione said.

'Ok, I think they've gone,' she determined after a moment. 'Let's go.'

Still shaking his head in slight bemusement, Harry followed Hermione through the castle. He was nearly out of breath as they finally slipped into the queue outside the Arithmancy classroom; grateful that Hermione seemed to know where they were headed, because he certainly had not.

'Oi, its Pass-out Potty!' a drawling, delighted voice called from behind him.

Harry cringed. He should have expected Malfoy.

'Ignore him,' Hermione whispered at his ear, as Harry made to turn and fire off a retort. She grabbed his wrist again, less aggressively than she had done upstairs. Harry gnashed his teeth in frustration, but obeyed the light pressure without comment.

He allowed Hermione to steer him into the classroom. Luckily, they were able to find seats in a back corner out of direct sight of most of the Slytherin group. Harry was grateful – he didn't relish hearing the taunting all through the lesson.

This classroom actually reminded Harry more of his Muggle school days than any of his other Hogwarts lessons. The blackboard was covered already in complex equations, and there were mathematics charts on the classroom walls, what looked suspiciously like abacuses along a table in the front corner (though Harry could see the pieces were moving themselves) and dozens of high bookshelves lined with thick, complex-looking volumes.

The class was mostly made up of Slytherins, to Harry's horror, though he saw a fair few Ravenclaw students mixed in as well. He and Hermione were the only Gryffindor students in attendance, and there did not seem to be a single Hufflepuff enrolled. Professor Vector was the last to enter the classroom. She could not have made more striking a contrast to Professor Trelawney's entrance. While the mystical psychic had appeared out of the shadows of the back of the room, draped in her gauzy shawls and bangles and carrying on about the auras of the universe, Septima Vector's manner reminded Harry far more of Minerva.

She was younger than most of their teachers – perhaps forty or so, Harry guessed. Her hair was a honey shade between blonde and brown, clipped back neatly from her face. She was of average height and build, dressed in simple robes of deep blue, and her arms were laden with a stack of heavy-looking books on which several quills and a ream of parchment were precariously balanced. She set the lot down on her desk at the front of the classroom, and turned to face her pupils with a small smile.

'Welcome to Arithmancy,' Professor Vector said in a business-like tone. She flicked her wand toward the door as she spoke, sealing it.

'This study will be unlike any other subject you have read thus far,' the professor continued. 'Arithmancy, as most of you must know, is concerned with divining the future.'

Harry, who had not actually had a clue what Arithmancy was (there had not been any assigned reading for the first day), started a bit in surprise.

'Didn't we already have that lesson?' he muttered to Hermione.

'Mr Potter?' the professor asked pointedly.

He flushed, as all the students swivelled in their seats to peer at him.

'Er –' he began, feeling hot, 'Sorry, professor. I was surprised. I thought Divination was the subject on fortune-telling.'

Many of the Slytherins tittered derisively, but Professor Vector silenced the room with a glare.

'Precisely, Mr Potter,' she said without malice. 'Divination is a _fortune-telling_ magic, concerned with reading uncertainties in visions, smoke or other mediums. But ultimately, those who hope to succeed in Divination must have some of the gift of Sight themselves, in order to make accurate predictions. It is not an art which can be easily learned. Can anyone tell me the difference between Divination and Arithmancy?'

Predictably, it was Hermione's hand that was first to hit the air.

'Ms?'

'Granger, professor,' Hermione supplied helpfully. 'And Arithmancy is divining in a different sense. Not "divine" as in read the Heavens, but "divine" as in deduce. Arithmancy is about using logic and numerology to predict the future – deciphering patterns, establishing trends or solving equations, usually. It's about finding the balance of probabilities, and it intersects closely with magical theory.'

'Indeed,' Professor Vector agreed with a nod. 'Ten points to Gryffindor. Now, let's see here…'

The professor trailed off, shuffling some papers on her desk and pulling out the roll. She spent a few minutes calling out the names of each student in the lesson, then set the list aside. She picked up a much thicker stack of parchment in its place.

'Now,' she said, coming around her desk with the papers, 'As we will be working with numbers and increasingly complex equations in this subject, I wish to get a better idea of your current capability. I know you all have had mathematics prior to Hogwarts, but I have found in my tenure here that levels of proficiency vary greatly. I usually start your first term with a fairly comprehensive exam, designed to test your comfort with basic maths. Nothing to panic about,' she assured them, as every student looked decidedly worried. 'It will not be marked. It is just to give me an idea of what I can expect from you, and which subjects we will need to cover at the outset.'

She tossed the stack of parchment high in the air, flicking her wand at it. The scrolls zoomed forward at once, setting themselves in front of each student.

'This will take the rest of the period,' she informed them, once the last exam had settled in front of Theodore Nott. 'You may begin.'

'An exam in the very first lesson,' Harry complained in an undertone to Hermione as they headed quickly down from the seventh floor at the bell to meet their Gryffindor classmates outside Transfiguration. 'What a welcome.'

'Oh, it wasn't too difficult,' Hermione said airily, jumping neatly over a trick stair between the sixth and fifth floor landings.

'Speak for yourself,' Harry countered darkly. 'I was never great shakes at maths. I'm surprised I even remembered as much as I did… I think I did alright through question 37 or so, but I didn't know anything in the last page.'

Hermione shrugged as they turned off at the correct corridor. 'Well, at least you'll probably know more than the pure-bloods,' she pointed out. 'Did you see Malfoy's face when Professor Vector announced an exam? He looked ill.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'Why would pure-bloods be bad at maths?' he asked in bewilderment.

'Well, most of them don't ever take proper school before Hogwarts, do they?' Hermione reasoned.

Harry was brought up short, pausing in the empty corridor. 'Er – don't they?'

Hermione sighed in exasperation. 'Don't you _ever_ read, Harry?' she asked sternly.

'Oi – I read all the time!' Harry protested. 'But it's not as if I have " _How to Raise Your Pure-blood_ " on my bedside –'

'Oh, never mind,' Hermione cut across him impatiently. 'In any case, Muggle-borns go to Muggle primary school, obviously, as they don't usually learn they are wizards until they turn eleven, when their Hogwarts letters are delivered. Some parents chose to send their children to Muggle schools until they are accepted at Hogwarts, but more often wizarding children are educated at home by their parents or tutors until they come here, or else study in smaller groups taught by one set of parents. For one, it's a lot harder to keep the magical world a secret when you are five or six and have never known anything else, and a lot of wizarding families feel it's too great a risk to expose their child to Muggle children and families, who might in turn suspect something about the young wizard or his or her parents even if the child doesn't share the secret on purpose. When both the child's parents are wizards who have never lived in the Muggle world, it is even less likely that the child will be sent to Muggle school, you see?'

'Yeah, I reckon so,' said Harry, trying to look as though this information were not surprising to him. 'But why would that mean that wizard children don't have maths?'

'I expect they've all had the basics,' said Hermione fairly. 'But it's different when you've not been given proper instruction. From what I've read, pre-Hogwarts wizarding education covers a lot of reading and writing, and a lot of wizarding culture, history and tradition – etiquette and structure of the government and things like that. I'm sure they know how to add and subtract and such, because of course you need that sort of thing in Potions. But wizarding parents leave the more complex sort of maths for later, for classes like Arithmancy. You might ask Ron, if you're curious.'

'Speaking of Ron,' Harry said, shaking himself a bit as he checked his watch, 'We'd better get a move on. We're due at McGonagall's in two minutes.'

Hermione jumped, checking her own watch quickly. 'Come on!' she moaned on seeing the time, and Harry raced to keep up with her as she tore down the corridor.

They only just made it in time, rounding the final corner to find their class just filing into the door that had been recently opened by Professor McGonagall.

'Thought you two fell in,' Ron grumbled, taking in their sweaty faces and Hermione clutching at the stitch in her side.

But Harry's eyes were roving over the other students, all of whom still appeared too uncomfortable to meet his gaze.

He'd almost forgotten about the Grim.

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'Inside now, come on,' Minerva chivvied the children, widening her hold on the door as they filed past her. When at last Neville Longbottom had sidled through, she shut the entrance with a sharp click and walked over to face them across her desk.

'I do hope,' she began, 'That you have not been idle over the summer. Third year Transfiguration will test your abilities far more than the introductory syllabi covered in first and second forms. We will spend far less time reviewing the remedial, and you will be expected to come to each lesson with a working understanding of the theory. Anyone who comes to the lesson without completing the assignment will be dismissed forthwith, and required to present his or herself for detention with a two-foot essay on the topic the following evening. You should all know, by now, that I will not tolerate slacking off in these lessons. From this point forward, idleness could not only lose your House points or earn you a detention; it could actually prove quite dangerous to you and your fellow students. I expect that you will all, therefore, approach the topics we will discuss this term with the appropriate sense of gravity and respect. Am I clear?'

She waited for the students to nod. They all did, although she couldn't help but notice the class seemed rather distracted already. She intensified her gaze to emphasise the point, then pushed back the sleeves of her emerald robes.

'Now then,' Minerva continued, 'As you should all know from your summer reading, we shall begin the term with a study of animagi. Who can tell me what an animagus is?'

Several hands shot into the air; Hermione's first, followed closely by Harry's. She pointed instead at Dean Thomas, whose hand had remained on his table.

'Mr Thomas?' she asked pointedly over her square spectacles.

'Er –' he swallowed heavily.

'Did you write your summer essay?' Minerva inquired sternly.

'Er – yes, ma'am' he assured her.

'Then you ought to know the answer.'

'Er… an animagus is a wizard, professor, or a witch, who can transform into an animal at will?'

'Precisely,' the professor said with a brisk nod. 'Five points. And next time, Thomas, do try not to phrase your sentence as a question. Ms Patil, is the animagus transformation a wanded or wandless magic?'

Parvati jumped a bit. 'Wandless,' she answered after a moment. 'The transformation doesn't use a spell at all.'

'Correct,' Minerva said with a nod. 'Another five points to Gryffindor.'

There were no answering smiles. Instead, the brief moments of rapt attention her opening lecture had instilled seemed to have faded, and most of the class looked thoroughly depressed. Minerva frowned. Without warning, she lunged forward at the lot of them, transforming mid-flight into her tabby cat. There were a few predictable gasps as she made the change.

Harry jumped violently as she landed on his work table. She cocked her head at him, sniffing, then leapt into the air once more and shifted back. Harry was still staring at the spot she'd landed with a frightened expression. Most of the rest of the class were watching him. Minerva frowned more deeply. Harry had seen her transform dozens of times before… she did not see what could have prompted such a violent response.

'Really,' she said primly, glaring around the room at the class at large. 'What has got into you all today? It's only the first day of lessons, surely you are not so inundated with coursework as to render yourselves this listless already?'

'Please, professor,' Hermione Granger piped up, hand in the air. 'It's… it's not that. It's only, in Divination this morning…' she broke off, shooting an anxious look at Harry. Minerva's jaw clenched harder at the sight.

'There is no need for further explanation,' she said curtly. 'I understand perfectly. Tell me, which of you is facing imminent death?'

The class stared back at her in shock.

'Me,' Harry said forlornly.

Minerva studied his face for a moment, feeling a tumult of anger fighting concern within her. She longed to stride straight up to that ridiculous woman's chambers and hex her into nonbeing for her callousness…

But a sea of anxious young faces were still staring back at her, waiting for some kind of reassurance. So she schooled her expression.

'Indeed,' she said in her primmest voice. 'In that case, Mr Potter, you ought to know – all of you ought to know,' she amended, glancing around at the rest of the class as well, 'That Sybill Trelawney has predicted the death of one student per year ever since she began teaching at Hogwarts. To the best of my knowledge, not a one of them has managed to die to date. Death omens are a particular favourite of the… _professor_ … and I am afraid she has taken to seeing them in every room she enters.' She felt her nostrils flare. 'I do not speak ill of my colleagues, as a general rule,' Minerva added, 'But I will say this. Professor Trelawney is, perhaps, a little overzealous in her teaching methods. And I should not put particular confidence in anything she might tell you.'

'And Divination,' she continued in a huff, sweeping back toward her desk, 'is notoriously _un_ predictable. Only fools set store by prophecy. And I will not have fools in my classroom _or_ my House.'

The class shifted uncomfortably, still darting odd looks toward Harry's table. Hermione Granger sat up even more rigidly in her chair.

'Now,' the professor said, turning to look at them all over her own desk and giving them half a smile of encouragement, 'Who can tell me the process of Ministry registration for those wishing to become animagi?'

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'All I am saying, Albus,' Severus growled from a worktable as he sent four drops of syrup of hellebore into the cauldron, 'is that the students are bound to notice on their own. Particularly the older students, who have had some instruction in recognising the signs.'

'Not necessarily,' the headmaster disagreed lightly. He was perched on the end of Severus' own desk, sucking on one of those infernal sweets and spinning a little phial he'd found beside him round and round in his fingers absentmindedly.

'That is a sample of Erumpent Exploding Fluid,' he pointed out, watching the headmaster spin the phial.

'So it is,' Albus agreed.

Severus glared. 'If you were to slip, the power in that sample would be enough to blow this room apart; possibly even kill the both of us.'

Albus smiled. 'Then I ought to be very careful not to drop it,' he said seriously, pinning Severus with his ice blue stare. 'After all, we cannot know what monumental disaster might occur, were we to become careless in handling delicate things.'

Albus set the little phial aside again, onto the enchanted cloth he'd pulled it from. Severus waited to see it safely laid down, then pushed back from his brew with his arms crossed.

'Is that supposed to be one of your metaphorical lessons, headmaster?' he challenged spitefully. 'Handle the _wolf_ like I would an explosive Class B tradable potions ingredient? The only _explosion_ that could come from this disaster of a situation is that he maims a student at the next cycle of the moon!'

'Remus is not unaware of the dangers of his condition, Severus,' said the headmaster soothingly. 'And he takes the appropriate precautions. We have nothing to be worried a-'

'Of _course_ there is something to worry about!' Severus interrupted. 'What if he misses a dose of the Wolfsbane, Albus? What if he takes a potion that counters its ingredients, even if by mistake? What if he shares information with an _old friend_ , and that –'

'Remus is not in contact with Sirius Black, Severus,' Albus said firmly. And, for the first time, he sounded stern. 'I have addressed these concerns with you before. And I do not wish to revisit the subject.'

Severus spun away angrily, sending the soiled pestle and mortar to the basin with a touch more force then he'd meant to. He heard an ominous crack as the stone met the metal.

'You are entirely too trusting, headmaster,' he warned in a low voice.

It was a dangerous accusation, Severus knew. He was fully aware that without Dumbledore's trust, he himself would have spent the last decade rotting in a cell next to Black's on that forsaken island. For a moment, he expected that Albus would say as much. But, to his surprise, the headmaster sighed, pushing himself off the edge of the desk and looking at Severus with a mournful, almost pitying expression.

'On the contrary, Severus,' he said quietly. 'I often feel I am nowhere near trusting enough.'

Severus opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment they were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Both wizards turned to consider the wood.

'Severus?' Minerva's voice called from the other side. She sounded decidedly rancorous. 'Is Albus there with you?'

'I am,' Albus replied curiously, and the door opened at once as Minerva stepped purposefully into the room. She shut it much harder than necessary.

'You are to talk to that woman at once,' she barked at the headmaster, ignoring Severus entirely.

Albus looked politely confused. 'What woman, Minnie?'

' _Sybill_ ,' Minerva clarified, crossing her arms. 'She is entirely out of line, Albus. She had my third years scared senseless this morning, going on about death omens and predicting _Harry's_ death by end of term. This is hardly the first time, but I swear it will be the last. If _you_ do not have words with her, _I_ certainly shall.'

'Sybill has told Potter he will die?' Severus clarified. He meant it to sound derisive, but he thought he missed the mark. Just thinking of the Seer gave him indigestion wholly unrelated to her usual irritating qualities.

'Yes,' Minerva returned shortly. 'As she told Ms Sommers last autumn, and Mr Diggory the year before. I will not have it Albus. You must end this madness.'

'I will speak to Sybill, Minerva,' the headmaster assured her. 'And to Harry, though I take it you have already had words with him?'

Minerva huffed. 'I told them all to disregard anything she says,' she answered hotly. 'Though I doubt it will do much good… the _Grim_ , honestly Albus…'

'Come,' he said, laying a hand on her shoulder and steering her toward the door. 'Let us head up to the Hall for luncheon. I promise I will speak with Professor Trelawney first thing this afternoon.'

Minerva continued to mutter darkly, but she allowed the headmaster to lead her from the room. Albus paused at the threshold.

'Are you coming, Severus?' he asked curiously.

'In – in a moment, headmaster,' Severus answered. 'I need to finish putting this brew under statis.'

Albus nodded, closing the door behind the two of them as Severus bent over as if to chop additional ingredients. But when the door had shut, he pushed the pile of valerian root aside without bothering to cut. He wasn't in the mindset.

 _The prophecy…_ that horrible night, that had started it all. He wished more than anything that he could unwind the clock; wished more than _anything_ that he'd never been in the pub that night, never crept up the staircase… never heard…

Never sent Him after Her.

He wandered over to the shelves at the back of the classroom again, searching for that one precious jar. Shooting a quick nonverbal locking charm at the classroom door, he lifted it carefully from its shelf, taking it over to the desk. In moments, he was running his fingers over one of the long, beautiful strands of dark red hair. Even after so many years, it was still smooth and strong beneath his touch.

 _He hadn't seen her in over a year._

 _He'd known from the_ Prophet _that she'd wed Potter… he'd drunk himself to oblivion the day the announcement came out. Potter, triumphant at last… taking forever the only thing Severus had ever had for his own; though she was hardly Severus' to claim any longer. If she had ever been._

 _That had been last June. It was February now._

 _Lily had just turned twenty._ He _had just turned twenty. They used to spend every January celebrating together, when they'd been young and untainted by the world. Counting the weeks between their birthdays as a sort of never-ending festivity. In another life._

 _What had she done this year, Severus wondered. Had she celebrated with_ Potter _? Holed up in whatever grand house that primped-up, pure-blood prince hailed from? Opened lavish gifts and made merry into the night with Black and the wolf? Potter's garish ring on her slender finger… Potter's brutish form in her bed?_

 _The Lily he knew –_ his _Lily – never went in for such nonsense. Lily had been fascinated by the bloom of a springtime flower, the soft touch of kitten's fur. She'd loved the simple and wondrous beauty of the world; the gift of poetry or song, or an afternoon spent lying by the riverside. She found joy in the quiet and the understated. It was, after all, the only reason she'd stooped to speak to a boy from Spinner's End, in dirty tunics oversized enough to hide his bruises. She was gentle, and kind. She was sweet. She had temper… oh yes, but she was never cruel._

 _She was perfect._

 _Which is why Potter made no_ sense _for her. Loud, boisterous, cacophonous… all the things that Lily wasn't. All the things his Lily eschewed. She used to be able to see that, when Severus had been there to help her. She used to understand its repulsiveness. But then everything had changed – shifted. Been destroyed._

 _He knew they'd come together in seventh year, even though he and Lily had been all but strangers then. How could he not? The entire school watched as James paraded her around like a prize he'd won at raffle; another trophy, to join the handful he'd collected on the quidditch pitch. He sang exaggerated ballads to her from tables in the Great Hall; he wore her scarf tied round his broomstick like a champion at the joust; he picked her up and spun her as they walked through Hogsmeade, the snow catching in her curtain of hair as she laughed, swept off her feet…_

 _And everyone said how right it was. The beautiful and desirous Lily Evans, come at last to her senses; succumbing at last to Potter's charm and his wit and his perfect existence. And the other students oohed and the staff smiled indulgently – the Gryffindor golden couple; the Head Boy and Girl; Dumbledore and McGonagall's little protégés, who would fight for the righteous side of magic, defending the downtrodden and the Muggle-born in the great contest of Good and Evil. Gryffindors, to the very end. Brave. Shining._

 _But in his head… there were always two. His Lily – the girl he'd found bringing flowers to life, jumping off swings and soaring through the park; the girl who'd made magic real for him in a way so much deeper than he'd ever done for her… and_ Potter's _Lily – the stranger who he just could not reconcile; could not stomach. Who was, forever, lost to him._

 _In many ways, Severus had thought he truly hated her. Hated her for her rejection. Hated her because, for all her nurturing, her goodness was nowhere near enough to save him from himself. And hated her, most of all, for marrying_ Him _: for putting herself firmly, forever, out of his reach._

 _And then he saw her that February night._

 _It was a bitter fight, and not just because of the snow and wind that whipped at their faces and limbs like knives. It wasn't supposed to be. He was with a contingent of just six when they arrived just after midnight, with one mission – find and kill Silas Stravinich, a_ Daily Prophet _reporter who had angered the Dark Lord in recent months. Stravinich lived alone in a little flat above a tea shop in a corner of Diagon Alley. He was just one man, and nearing ninety. He should not have been a challenge._

 _Of course, they had not been expecting the opposition._

 _She'd come bursting out of the shop at the head of an Order contingent, closely followed by Emmeline Vance, Frank Longbottom and two hulking figures Severus was pretty certain were the famed Prewett brothers, Gideon and Fabian. He was so stunned to see her that he faltered in his own defence, taking a cutting curse across the shoulder from the taller of the two Prewetts for his hesitancy._

 _But by Merlin, she was beautiful. Still. Her stream of deep red hair flew around her face, suggesting she'd apparated in too much of a hurry to secure it. Those arresting emerald eyes sang with fury and adrenaline, and a cold, terrible hatred that pierced his very soul. He'd seen that look before… the look that ended it all._

 _She didn't know she faced him now, of course. She could not see beneath his mask._

 _And if he didn't move, and soon, she might kill him._

 _Severus spun away as the second hex came from the familiar willow wand. He reappeared in moments farther down the street, engaging in battle with Longbottom instead. He did not care if he killed the auror… but he could not, he_ would _not, touch her._

 _The others were not as bothered. He heard a mad cackle of laughter, as Bellatrix parried a stunner from Lily instead, shooting her own lethal curse back so quickly that Severus could watch the reflection in Lily's eyes as she dodged. He shook himself, trying to keep focus on the auror instead. He would lose his own battle if he wasn't…_

 _The street was rent with a crackle like flames in the hearth, as a dozen others joined the fray. There were screams and summons on all sides as the newcomers threw themselves into the battle, Ministry wizards, Order members and more masked companions all among the arrivals._

 _'Lily, no!'_

 _Severus heard the cry from his left; that horrible, smooth baritone that he despised so deeply. One of the newly-arrived Death Eaters had joined the fight against Longbottom, and Severus gave in to temptation, backing away from his own battle and casting a disillusionment charm over himself as he headed back toward Lily._

 _Bellatrix was occupied in combat with two Ministry witches now, cackling madly as she danced, dodged and struck. A snake among pixies. Potter had appeared amid the battle too, and even as Severus watched he caught hold of Lily, pushing her roughly back toward the row of shops and terrace houses and out of the line of fire. He spun again as two more people apparated in their midst, but relaxed as he realised they were friends. Lupin, the werewolf, and Sirius Black._

 _'James, you're not supposed to be out,' snared the wolf angrily, grabbing Potter in turn and yanking him back toward his wife. Severus saw the handsome wizard was paler than usual; a little unsteady on his feet._

 _'Did you apparate here?' the wolf demanded, searching him critically. 'You utter prat!'_

 _James Potter made to answer, but Lily cut across him, her eyes blazing again as she turned a wrathful gaze on her husband. Severus, unseen behind his charm, crept closer, oblivious now to the raging of the fighting around them._

 _'James, I cannot_ believe _you!' she snapped. 'Are you looking to get yourself killed?'_

 _James fired up at once. '_ Me _, Lily?' he asked incredulously. 'What about_ you _? You think I was going to sit by the fire and watch you dash off into Merlin knows what, when you're –'_

 _'I'm perfectly capable of fighting, Jamie,' Lily said indignantly. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, in a gesture so familiar that Severus felt his heart ache again. 'For some months yet.'_

 _'In your condition –' Potter began, but he broke off as a stray curse blasted the low beam directly over her head._

 _Lily screamed._

 _'Lily!'_

 _Potter made to lunge for her, but he was far slower than Severus had ever seen him. Severus was half in a mind to move for Lily himself, when he saw Black and the wolf take her by an arm each, pulling her protectively behind them against the tattered entry to the shop. Lupin kept her shielded with his own body, volleying off a string of curses at the Death Eaters that had sent the beam down. Black, meanwhile, had his back to the battle. He was running a hand through Lily's hair, across her face, over her shoulders… as if making sure she was whole and intact. Brushing off the splinters of wood that had dusted her robes._

 _The sight of_ his _hands on Her made Severus feel ill._

 _James Potter was separated from them now: slightly breathless, and leaning against the side of the shop. He looked dazed and concerned as he watched Black examine his wife. He hadn't even drawn his wand…_

 _The moment was perfect. And it wasn't wrong… it wasn't as if he was striking Her…_

 _James Potter was his enemy; he was an enemy of the Dark Lord… he was a danger; a threat. He had to be killed…_

 _He stepped from the shadows at last, dropping his charm, his wand raised high…_

 _'_ James!'

 _The bloodcurdling scream came from Her. Pleading, and panicked. She'd seen. She knew._

 _But he was already casting, already bringing down the wand, already forming the deadly words…_

 _Lily had pulled herself from under Black's restraint. He'd probably loosed her himself, as he too was reaching toward Potter like his world was about to be destroyed. Potter hadn't moved._

 _But Lily dove at her husband, as if to wrestle him to the ground. And Potter shook out of his stupor at last, to catch her. Steadied her automatically; wouldn't let her take them down out of range. He didn't even realise…_

 _Severus' heart contracted in horror, as he recognised what would happen; saw Lily in the spell's path. And he knew, in that instant, that he cared not whether this was his Lily or James'. It did not matter. In an instant, they would both be dead._

 _And he would die with her._

 _With a monumental effort, he jerked his wand arm up at the last moment, just as the curse was leaving him. It soared half a metre too high and shattered a window on the first floor. Shards of glass rained down on Lily's head instead of death. And he breathed again._

 _'You bastard!'_

 _He barely had time to react as Black flung a blood-boiling hex his way, missing him by inches as he jerked aside._

 _And they were at it again, as if the last few minutes of relative inaction had never occurred. Severus shot furious spells at Black – and the wolf, who had joined him._

 _Someone came to partner him. Yaxley, maybe. It was hard to tell who your allies were, beneath these masks._

 _Then all four were blown aside, immobilised, as the tallest figure yet appeared silently in their midst. Severus felt one moment of deepest fear, sure that it was Dumbledore…_

 _Then the figure turned, and he relaxed as gleaming red eyes swept the scene._

 _'Messy,' the Dark Lord observed, letting his gaze wander farther – taking in the raging battle and the blown apart street. 'I dislike messiness.'_

 _There was no response. The Dark Lord did not expect one._

 _'It appears I shall have to do it myself,' he said in a high, cold voice. 'As I always seem to need to do, these days…'_

 _A red beam of light flew at him. The Dark Lord dispelled it with a lazy flick of his hand, turning to see what fool had sent it. He gave a leering smile without a drop of amusement._

 _'Mr… Potter?' he guessed, eyes focusing on the Gryffindor. James Potter was looking anything but dazed now, his stance defiant as he stared the Dark Lord down. 'And, you've brought the mudblood,' the Dark Lord continued, gleaming eyes turning in Lily's direction. 'How… charming.'_

 _Lily stepped forward to her husband's side, squeezing his hand briefly. Severus saw his own panic reflected in Potter's eyes._

 _'Go,' Potter hissed at her. It wasn't whispered. There was no point._

 _She drew her wand, ignoring his words._

 _The Dark Lord gave one high, cruel bark of laughter. It chilled Severus to his very soul. He knew the sound. The bell that tolled imminent death._

 _'How touching,' the Dark Lord mocked. 'Gryffindor bravery… foolish in the extreme, of course. But, admirable nonetheless. You will die together then, will you? A pity – I might have taken the pure-blood if he showed an ounce more sense.'_

 _'I'd rather die,' Potter spat through gritted teeth. He kept his wand drawn and pointed at the Dark Lord, the fingers of his other hand white over Lily's._

 _'Well, it seems you shall get your wish,' the Dark Lord countered, stepping smoothly forward as he drew his own wand. 'But first, I shall teach you to show some proper respect. Crucio!'_

 _Potter pulled Lily aside, both narrowly missing the curse. Lily shot her own spell back at the Dark Lord, who turned out of its path in silent disapparation. Potter vanished the pair of them farther up the street immediately, correctly anticipating the wizard's reappearance in their former place. It took only moments for the fighting to resume in force. Severus saw an Order member fall to his right. Several masked bodies were crumpled on the pavement too, while the remaining fighters paired off in furious battles up and down the alley. Still frozen, he considered it miraculous that neither he nor any of the others in their erstwhile tussle had been hit by opposing forces… something he might have been more grateful for, if his entire focus wasn't riveted on the central clash between the Dark Lord and the Potters._

 _Potter and Lily were holding their own, shockingly so. But the Dark Lord was not yet incensed. He was running out the clock at half-pace, watching with growing amusement as the couple grew exhausted with the battle, like a cat toying with a mouse. Severus knew the Dark Lord would become bored of his game eventually… and then, both would die._

 _And then Waterson fell, his mask blown backward off his face with the force of his impact with the street. Frank Longbottom gave a savage snarl of triumph, and shot his next curse straight at the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord turned to parry the third opponent, leaving just the smallest opening…_

 _And Lily's spell grazed his left shoulder._

 _The Dark Lord roared in anger, sending a blinding flash of silver out from his wand like a wrathful Zeus. The street physically shuddered with the force of the spell, and everyone still standing was blown backward off their feet._

 _The binding spell held. Severus felt his heart pounding against his ribs as the Dark Lord examined the spot on his sleeve, where blood was pooling against the dark fabric. A slow trickle was running out the end of the arm, down pale fingers… dripping onto the cobblestones. Severus was vaguely surprised to see it scarlet._

 _'A mudblood with skill,' the Dark Lord whispered. The words were next to silent, but they still carried over the street as if he'd shouted them. Severus saw Potter pull Lily carefully to her feet again, keeping her shielded behind him…_

 _'Or luck,' the Dark Lord said scathingly. 'An unusual combination, whatever the reason. But I am afraid, Lily Potter… yours is at an end._ Avada _–'_

 _'Enough, Tom,' came a new voice. The Dark Lord stopped mid-curse, spinning to address it._

 _Albus Dumbledore stepped out of the ice cream parlour, terrible power radiating so strongly from his being that it would have dropped Severus to his knees, were he capable of movement. For the first time in his life, he was grateful for the sight of the headmaster._

 _'Dumbledore,' the Dark Lord greeted. His tone was mocking; dismissive. But Severus saw the long fingers tighten over his wand. Dumbledore was fingering his own almost absently, strolling across the battle-torn street as if he were merely crossing his Great Hall. As he approached, the cowardly among the masked figures vanished in successive pops._

 _'Your men flee, Tom,' Dumbledore pointed out, coming to a halt between the Dark Lord and the Potters. 'They, unlike you, can sense the end of the battle.'_

 _'Cowards and fools,' the Dark Lord said dismissively, his wand still trained on the headmaster. 'They will pay for their spinelessness. Once I have finished with you.'_

 _Dumbledore gave a wave of his right hand. At once, Lupin and Black were freed from their bonds. They rushed over to Lily and Potter at once, without a glace for Severus or Yaxley. Each taking one by the arm, the four of them vanished._

 _'It matters not,' the Dark Lord said, watching the foursome disappear. 'I will have them all eventually, Dumbledore. Surely you must realise that by now.'_

 _'Ah, but again, I am afraid we must agree to disagree, Tom,' the headmaster answered lightly. Severus saw the remaining fighters on both sides vanish, as Dumbledore nodded solemnly at the watching Order members and at last drew his wand. 'I very much doubt we shall end this war tonight, but I am equally certain there will be no more bloodshed on these stones this evening.'_

 _The Dark Lord gave a mirthless laugh. He fired the first hex. Dumbledore dispelled it easily, sending a counter back at the wizard without even a missed step. The Dark Lord was forced to apparate out of its path, coming to rest just inches from Severus' arm._

 _'You do not seek my death, Dumbledore?' he mocked, sending a lethal curse at the headmaster. 'Still above it, are you?'_

 _'Oh no,' Dumbledore disagreed politely. 'No, Tom, I am afraid I must confess a weakness on that score. I do not think death a suitable penance for the crimes you have committed.'_

 _The Dark Lord snarled again as he shot off a volley of hexes. For several long minutes, the battle grew darker, intensifying to terrifying heights. Severus heard thunder from above them as the street was rent with the storm of magic, neither wizard able to vanquish his opponent._

 _'This is fruitless, Tom,' the headmaster pointed out, as he dodged yet another Killing Curse._

 _The Dark Lord gave another cruel laugh of derision, but Severus could see uncertainty in his gleaming eyes. A moment later, he felt his own bonds release._

 _'Come!' the Dark Lord commanded suddenly, set just in front of Severus and Yaxley. And Severus, not wanting to find himself alone in the street with an angry Albus Dumbledore, turned on the spot at once._

 _'Severus,' the Dark Lord called from the sitting room, hours after their arrival back at the Manor. Severus pulled himself from the dining room chair at once, feeling his bones protest the movement violently. They had all suffered for hours as punishment for their humiliation in London._

 _'My Lord,' Severus said, bowing low as he entered the room. The Dark Lord was seated at the fire in a wingback chair, his scarlet gaze focusing intensely on Severus' face as the latter raised his head._

 _'Close the door,' the Dark Lord said. Severus obeyed at once. 'Come closer…'_

 _He moved forward, keeping his head bowed. At the Dark Lord's gesture he took a seat on the edge of a lower chair. The arrangement meant he had to look up at the Dark Lord's gaze._

 _'How may I be of service, my Lord?' Severus asked._

 _The Dark Lord studied his fingers for a moment, twirling his wand between them. Severus eyed it with trepidation – wondering if more punishment was in store._

 _'I have been thinking on what you told me, Severus,' the Dark Lord said at last. 'Of what you heard in the Hog's Head last month. The events of this night have complicated the situation.'_

 _'How – how so, my Lord?' Severus ventured._

 _The Dark Lord stood, and Severus fought the urge to cringe._

 _'I had thought,' the wizard began, 'That I knew the child to whom the prophecy would refer… there was only one woman I knew of newly pregnant in the Order; only one child who would be born in the summer, to parents who have escaped me three times.'_

 _'Yes, my Lord,' Severus agreed, bowing his head. 'If the Longbottom child is a boy –'_

 _'But that is no longer the case,' the Dark Lord interrupted him. He spun at the hearth. The glowing embers nearly matched his eyes as they bored into Severus'._

 _'There is another who could fit the description,' the Dark Lord clarified, his eyes still intense on Severus' face. 'Another woman. Another couple who have escaped me this night…'_

 _And he knew. He knew before the Dark Lord even said the name. He had known it, really, from the moment he heard James Potter's terror… the sickening, tender way the wolf and Black had shunted her out of the line of fire…_

 _'Lily Potter is expecting a son,' the Dark Lord finished in a long, low hiss._

 _And Severus ducked his head once more, broke away from those red eyes. And he willed his dinner to stay down; his heart to stomp its frantic pounding; his face to stop threatening a cold sweat. But most of all, he kept his eyes on the ground._

 _Before his Master could see the rise of panic and fear within his very soul._

 _'You know her,' the Dark Lord said, before Severus had controlled his inner panic. 'Lucius says you are the same age.'_

 _'Y-yes,' Severus agreed, still speaking to the floor. He wondered, in a vaguely detached part of his brain, whether the Dark Lord had confided the prophecy to Lucius Malfoy. 'I was at Hogwarts with both Lily Potter and Alice Longbottom,' he confirmed. 'Though we were not of the same House, of course. But,' he swallowed, making his expression as neutral as he could before finally raising his head. 'But she is mudblood, my Lord, as you so rightly said,' he reminded his master. 'Surely the Longbottom child is the more likely candidate, given your own immense power and –'_

 _'_ My _power shall be greater than_ either _child!' the Dark Lord snarled furiously._

 _'Of, of course, my Lord,' Severus agreed quickly. 'I did not mean to suggest –'_

 _'The pure-blood seems a more likely candidate,' the Dark Lord agreed, fingering his wand again as he seemed to mull the problem over. 'But, we shall see. It is early days yet, and I do not wish the Order to suspect we are targeting either. There may yet be another to emerge. And there is little point before the child is born, at any rate. The date has been foretold. The question may answer itself. I shall… wait, for now.'_

 _Severus felt the panic in his heart subside a fraction. 'Yes, my Lord,' he said, bowing his head again._

 _'But, Severus,' the Dark Lord continued, sinking into his chair again. 'In the meantime… I wish you to tell me what you know of Lily and James Potter.'_

 _Several hours later, Severus took a risk. A new day was dawning, so deeply grey and stormy that there was hardly any change in the light. The manor was silent as he left it, ostensibly for his own home… but the alley was thunderous with the sounds of the storm. They hid his apparition perfectly._

 _Under a disillusionment charm again, Severus picked his way carefully through the wreckage. He was lucky the Ministry and the Order had not yet arrived to put the pieces back together. At last, he reached the spot where they'd all stood – where he'd nearly snuffed out Lily's life himself. His eyes traced the fallen beam, scanning the ground in desperation…_

 _And then he spotted them._

 _Clinging to the bits of wood that Black had brushed off her last night onto the ground were several long, deep red hairs, floating on the edge of release in the stormy wind. Severus crouched down among the debris, detaching each one carefully from where it had caught and lifting them gently into a conjured jar. He found seven in all._

 _He did not know, precisely, why he felt the need to do this… what good he thought might come of saving these small bits of Her._

 _But he knew, somehow, that he must._

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 23:**

 **Leonore** : Thank you for your reviews! Glad to hear you are still enjoying the story so much, and I really appreciate your comments! To answer your queries… yes, we will definitely be seeing additional flashbacks and memories throughout the course of Part Two, including several scenes from the Marauders' time at Hogwarts (and after). I think it's important to recognise and explore that friendship – especially because it highlights the significance of Peter's ultimate betrayal. As to when Harry will master the patronus and whether that will be in time for the match (or, indeed, whether the events will occur as they did in POA with regards to the circumstances of the match itself)… I will remain silent for now. I hope you'll like the way that unfolds when we arrive.

As to your final additional question, you are the second person to ask me that (although I think the first query was by PM). I apologise to anyone who was confused, but 'speaking Welsh' is a colloquial phrase for 'vomiting' or 'sicking up.' It's not a very kind comparison in its origins, I'm afraid… it refers to the guttural, slightly throaty sound of the Welsh language. But over time it has become a rather common expression.

Enjoy Chapter 24!

 **MotherBear** : Thank you for reviewing! Haha… I can see where you might expect Ron to have been a Death Eater in disguise, given Harry's recent history of harrowing contretemps… but, this time, things are a bit less deadly. Poor Sirius! I think reliving all these moments is certainly toying with his already perilous mental health, but hopefully when he has the chance to _finally_ be heard, there can be some justice served. Glad to have been of service in distracting you, and I hope you enjoy the continuation of the story!

 **AECM** : Thank you for your review and good wishes :). I'm glad you like the bits with Albus and Minerva, and will try to include some additional scenes between them in future. This particular book gets so far into the 'Marauder Legacy' ideas, it isn't always easy to fit in as much Albus and Minerva as I would like… but I'll do my best!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thank you for reviewing! Happy to hear you are still enjoying the story, and glad the short interval between 22 and 23 was appreciated :). Enjoy the next instalment!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for your review! I'm glad you liked Chapter 23 so much :). Sirius is definitely brewing up again for entry… so we'll see that play out soon. And I'm glad you liked the Severus dialogue – I feel like we're always seeing tension lately, so it felt like the right time for something a bit lighter. And sarcastic Snape is one of my favourite sides to pen. Yes, the 'darkness' is definitely starting to build… as with POA, the undercurrent in this book (which becomes even more obvious come GOF) is one of approaching war again. I think it saddens Albus greatly; certainly there are new parallels between the Marauder universe and Harry's. We're not quite at Voldemort's resurrection, of course, but the underlying knowledge of what must happen when that time comes preys on the headmaster's mind. It's funny, because I feel that Minerva and Albus sort of trade off with expressiveness; she's often the first to show it when she's in distress, but he is far more comfortable hinting at their connection in front of others – even Harry – than she is at times.

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thank you for reviewing! Yes, thirteen is an odd in-between age, I feel: too young to make most of your critical decisions on your own, but old enough to feel you are being coddled when the adults make them for you. Hopefully Harry will learn to navigate the balance. Glad you are liking the story and hope you'll enjoy the continuation!

 **Blue** **Luver5000** : Thank you for your review! Very glad you liked this chapter and hope you will enjoy the next.

 **Emme** : Thanks for reviewing! Happy to hear you liked Chapter 23 so much! The snarky dialogue was one of my favourite bits too. Also glad that you enjoyed the flashbacks – exploring the complex relationship between Pettigrew and Sirius, James and Remus, as well as the deterioration of that relationship, is one of my goals for this book and something I'm very excited about. And of course the First War, which is something we only get hints of in canon and leaves a lot of room for new material. I can _definitely_ promise that we will see more of the Marauder generation at school (and after). As well as more of 31 October 1981 and its aftermath. Unravelling the complexities of what happened that night and immediately following Voldemort's downfall is something that is likely to take us through the end of my series… just when we think we know everything, they'll be new revelations!

 **Shadowhunter** : Thank you for your review! Sorry to hear life has been so chaotic – I hope you have a chance at a rest soon! Although, sadly, if there's one thing I have learned in the past ten years, it is that life seems to only grow madder as you get older.

I'm glad you found the beginnings of the horcrux/information on Voldemort hunt interesting… it's something we will continue to witness and explore as Harry grows older and Voldemort grows stronger. And yes – there is _definitely_ potential for some shake-ups in the trio dynamics this term; in part because of the new circumstances of the Time-Turner, of course, and in part because Harry's changed status and knowledge will affect others as well. Ron will _not_ be happy when he finds he's been kept out of the loop on the time-jumping adventures.

Sirius's nightmares… certainly terrifying. And an interesting juxtaposition, as a lot of this story is about people dealing with their own demons. As for Snape… well, 'relationship' is an interesting word. He definitely has more interaction with Harry at this point than in canon, and there's a spark of respect mixed into Harry's previous loathing… maybe even into _Snape's_ loathing of Harry. I don't think Harry realises that Snape is looking out for him or why, of course; but, naturally, that will have an effect on Ron and Hermione as well, as they are so often together. But, while amusing, I doubt we'll be having battle-planning tutorials with Snape any time soon!

As for the family – husband has backed off a bit, but he's still far more protective than his usual. I have developed a daily penchant for sticky toffee pudding, which James has obliged in providing. Sending him out for it is an excellent way to force him to work off some of the coddling desires. We're both newly-obsessed with feeling the babies move, which really is the most _incredible_ sensation. It makes it so much more real: the knowledge that you're truly creating life. And terrifying – like we are responsible for these tiny creatures now and who in the heavens could have decided _that_ was a good scheme?! Well over the half-way mark now, so I expect I'll begin full-on panic shortly after Christmas…

In any case, I hope things calm down for you and all my love of course! Enjoy this next instalment!

 **Blimey2310** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you are enjoying the stories thus far. I appreciate your comments on the characters and on Minerva in particular. I agree she can be slightly pushy; but to me it's not meant to be a Molly Weasley-type characterisation, but more of an integration of the portions of her personality that were explored more fully in the post-7 canon pieces, and of course a response to her changing relationship with Harry. We see more to her in this story than the second-in-command side that's prevalent in the original books. That said, I think you've made some good points and I'll keep them in mind as we move forward. On Sirius, your concerns are also noted and appreciated! I think you are correct that many would be disappointed if he were killed off… but I shan't make any promises. There will be deaths in the later portions of my re-telling, and I'm sure some of them will be beloved characters. However, I will say that I've grown quite attached to Sirius while writing and exploring his character, and I shall be heartbroken if that comes to an end.

Finally, thank you for the well wishes! About 15 weeks or so to go (twins come a bit earlier than single pregnancy babies), and I can't wait until it's over… but in the meantime I'll do my best to keep updating frequently!


	25. Cherchez La Femme

**A/N** : It is officially the Christmas season… and in the spirit of the upcoming holidays I am going to be attempting to reach Christmas in our story by the time we reach it in the real world. It's a goal, not a promise mind you… but I will work very hard to make it happen! December is an easier month for me at work (after about Wednesday of this week), so I'm hopeful I can truly make this happen.

I've been missing Sirius… so he bookends this chapter. A bit of an early Christmas gift for my Sirius fans in the holiday spirit.

Oh, and warning: **Explicit Content in This Chapter.**

Enjoy chapter 25 everyone, and please do read and review!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 25:** **Cherchez La Femme**

Lily would not have approved.

She'd always hated when wizards took advantage of Muggles – especially when it was Sirius or James taking the advantage. They'd been cornered once at the start of the Christmas holidays in their seventh year by two Muggle policemen in Manchester, when they'd taken Sirius' motorbike for a bit of a joyride. They'd given the officers a fair bit of cheek before Death Eaters had crashed the party, and Lily had told them off all night when they'd finally made it back to the Potters' home. Being Muggle-born, she'd always taken umbrage with what she deemed "Wizarding arrogance."

And as a rule, Sirius agreed. Sure, they'd been a bit mischievous a time or two (or twenty)… but he'd never bought in for the sort of Muggle-baiting that old pure-blood families, like his own parents, had thought made good sport. Moreover, Sirius had often felt growing up that Muggles had got it right in a lot of places where wizarding innovation had failed. Central heat and air conditioning, for one, were far less difficult to maintain than continual cooling charms and enchanted fires. Motorbikes and cars required a bit of tinkering to bring them up to snuff, but they were a hell of a lot more fun than a broom if you put in the bit of effort. And Sirius had yet to find a centrefold in a _wizarding_ publication that rivalled those he'd coveted from the Muggle world as a teenager.

No… on the whole, he would have agreed with Lily in her disapprobation of what he was about to do. But… he was _really_ ill. And Lily would not have wanted him to die. Not before he could save Harry. Not before Peter paid for his treachery.

Not while he was at Hogwarts.

Sirius had been a clever student. One of the top in the year, in fact, when he'd cared to make the effort. He'd excelled in Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Ancient Runes, and he'd even been fairly skilled in Potions. What he'd barely scraped the required 'Exceeds Expectations' in, however, was Herbology. And that had cost him this week.

It had happened, ironically, on the evening of the start of term. Sirius had been bemoaning the feast up at the school; he hadn't had proper food in over a decade. They never served anything but the blandest of meals at Azkaban. And even if it had been prepared by Escoffier himself, nobody would have tasted the difference under the Dementors' watch. Eating in the raw had actually been a big improvement when he'd first broken out. But after a while, he'd started to miss a more balanced diet.

It was still harvest season, and the forest was awash with plants and berries perfect for consumption. Of course, Sirius was wary at first. He was not fool enough to trifle with the unknown… so he stuck to what he knew he could have: bilberries, onion, the occasional bit of knotgrass. And then he stumbled upon the smattering of guelder rose.

He'd always loved guelder rose jam. And Marley… she'd sworn by guelder rose wine. She used to say it had healing properties.

 _'For the body and the soul, Sirius,' she'd told him. 'It soothes the tension, guelder rose.'_

She'd liked to pick the berries herself and mull the drink at home. He could almost see her: the soft summer's breeze pulling at her golden curls as she led him through the wood, searching for a hidden grove… laughing as she ran ahead and darted in and out among the trees. It was always a new forest; always a new crop of berries. She was like Sirius in that way: she hated to be bored. Hated trekking a path she knew well enough to predict where it dumped out. So every time they decided to make guelder rose wine, it was a new undertaking. A new adventure.

He hadn't thought of Marley in ages… not the happy bits, at least. He could never forget the night it all came crashing down; but all the days that came before… the happy memories… had faded. They were drowned by the horrors of reality. And the horrors of _his_ reality had taken most of Marley – as they had taken most of everything from him.

So he cherished the simplicity of the cheerful recollection. And he ate every berry he could reach. Imagining, for just a moment, that he was sharing the find with her.

Some two hours later, the cramping had started.

It began as an irritation – an annoying pang in his stomach that he was able, for a time, to ignore. But it grew more insistent as the hours passed. Then the fever set in, wracking his body with chills. He found it difficult to keep his animal form as the hallucinations clouded his mind, taking him from the present and blurring his surroundings. As if from far away, he heard Marley's voice echo in his head…

 _'But you mustn't ever eat them raw, Siri, remember that…'_

Shit.

He'd tried to sleep it off, but he'd been woken every hour or so: violently sick to his stomach and shivering uncontrollably. As dawn approached, he knew he was growing weaker. He could not remember if it was truly poison… or if the illness would pass like food gone off. But he realised, in a sort of blind panic, that he could no longer afford to wait.

Potions would have been quicker, of course. Perhaps immediate. But potions were out of the question, hidden in the Forbidden Forest. Sneaking into the apothecary in Hogsmeade would be dangerous in the extreme; and even in his feverish state Sirius recognised that he would not be able to act quickly enough should the Dementors notice his presence in the village.

So he dragged himself laboriously to the far edge of the forest, to the fringes of the nearest Muggle village. Muggle medicine would not be nearly as quick, nor could he guarantee its effectiveness. He knew next to nothing of Muggle pharmacology, having been raised in the wizarding world. He'd taken paracetamol once, years ago, at the Potters' when he'd had a headache and Lily had been out of pain potion. He remembered it'd taken a half hour or so to kick in, but it had been effective enough. He had no idea what sort of Muggle medication might work against raw guelder rose berries… but it was safer than trying to nick a potion.

So Sirius stumbled into the Muggle village at half six, hoping against hope that the cool light of the rising sun would keep the Dementors from town, as he could no longer sustain his animagus form.

The chemist's was bolted, of course. The effort to unlock it without a wand winded him. Sirius slipped inside and took a moment, braced against the door and breathing heavily. He willed himself not to sick up.

After a few minutes, the immediate sensation of nausea passed. He pushed himself upright again, swaying slightly and wondering how his body – which had grown so thin in a decade's incarceration – could feel like it weighed a thousand kilos. He managed to stumble his way through the darkened aisles. He daren't turn on a light, but there were enough slivers creeping through the gaps in the windows now to give him a bit to go off. He tried to push himself farther, faster… but his legs did not seem to want to cooperate.

His long-nailed fingers scrabbled bottles and packets, trying to decide what might work. He wished he'd taken Muggle Studies in school, or paid a bit more attention when Muggle-born friends had expounded on the virtues of Muggle medicine… because he hadn't a clue where to start. Desperately, he nicked a bottle of paracetamol, something that was labelled "for flu" and two or three packets that looked like stomach soothers. He tried to squint at the labelled ingredients, looking for something he recognised. He knew the magical herbs and plants would be out; but there out to be peppermint, fennel or ginger…

Nothing. All these medications contained things like bismuth subsalicylate, methylcellulose and sodium polyphosphate – nothing that Sirius understood at all. He would have to trust that something in this strange combination of chemicals would suffice, and that the compounds were safe for magical persons. There wasn't a choice, anyway.

He knew the really powerful drugs were kept behind the prescription counters, but that portion of the chemist's was sectioned off with a heavy, steel curtain. He doubted another bout of wandless magic would improve his condition… and was half-sure it might cause him a collapse right here on the tiled floor.

So he took the options he had, two bottles of water and a packet of plain crisps, stuffed the pilfered hoard into a tote bag from up at the front, and hurried out of the shop before the Muggles arrived.

He was almost back to the edge of the village when it happened. A little old lady walking a decrepit-looking poodle turned a corner and froze when she saw him, her mouth dropping open in horror. Before Sirius could say a word – before, admittedly, he could _think_ of anything to say – the woman gave a tiny shriek of terror, and bolted back up the street as fast as her carpet slippers would carry her.

Even through his feverish haze, Sirius knew he had only precious seconds. His face had been plastered all over the Muggle papers this summer… they would have set up some sort of method to track Muggle sightings. The Dementors, the Ministry… they would know. They would come.

He ducked into an alley and forced himself to change, ignoring the way the transformation stabbed violently at every aching bone. He took up the tote between his teeth and sprinted, as fast as he could, toward the trees again. He wouldn't let himself stop until he was deep enough that the trees blocked nearly all light, seeking out a little cave he knew of in a hidden hollow. Trusting to the ancient magic of the forest to shield him. He used the last of his fading strength to cast one wandless protective spell, a version of Notice-Me-Not that he and James had used in the battlefield more than a decade ago. The final spell was too much for his shaking limbs, and he collapsed to his knees on the forest floor at it took hold.

Sirius barely managed to swallow a dose of each of the medications before he succumbed to unconsciousness.

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Albus felt a headache threatening as he let the Minister bumble on, only half-listening.

He was not particularly prone to headaches, strictly speaking. Years of careful scheming, a steady supply of caffeine and supreme magical acumen usually forestalled any physical manifestation of stress. But the start to _this_ term had been far more hectic than usual, even by Hogwarts standards.

First, there had been the most curious afternoon in Little Hangleton… something Albus still needed to mull over properly, whenever he finally got the time. There was every chance he'd need to re-visit Germany to do so, which meant more careful scheming, and Albus was loath to leave Scotland again while Harry remained in such danger.

And Harry himself, of course, had piled on the second stressor of term, with his collapse on the Express and the subsequent row over his recovery. Though Harry had seemed perfectly normal the following morning and gone to lessons in good spirits, Albus had barely made it half a day before Minerva burst into Severus' office in high temper, shrieking over Sybill's latest indelicacy.

Which meant a highly unpleasant visit to the Seer's tower, trying to ignore the noxious purple smoke from the fire as he explained – patiently, but quite firmly – that he would rather she keep predictions of students' untimely demises to herself for the time being.

 _'But, headmaster!' Sybill had protested, looking scandalised. 'The children have a right to know! It is tragic, of course… but if one does not prepare for the worst, the shock alone can prevent smooth passage to the other side.'_

 _Albus swallowed his discomfort at this, keeping his face neutral. He disliked the direction of this conversation greatly –and not only because it was for Harry he was here._

 _'Even so, Sybill,' he said decisively. 'Though I admire your talents most ardently, I assure you, divining the hour of death is among the most uncertain aspects of prophesy… or so you have told me,' he reminded her with a small smile. 'I should hate to rile the students unnecessarily, you understand. And other professors have expressed concern.'_

 _Sybill looked indignant now. 'My dear Albus,' she said with tragic effect. 'It is a most unpleasant burden, you must know. I do not wish to be the conduit… do not wish to state these truths, of course… but I will not stifle the Inner Eye.'_

 _'I am afraid I must_ insist _you do so in this case, Sybill,' the headmaster said, with a touch more ire. 'Else, I fear, I will have to take a more direct approach to supervising the Divination curriculum. And never having studied the art myself, I shudder to think what a travesty that may turn out to be.'_

He'd left her in a state of high dudgeon, fuming alone in her Tower.

Only to be accosted halfway to his study by a furious and blood-spattered Severus Snape, nearly foaming at the mouth in his readiness for shouting. They had barely shut the door to the circular office before Snape set in – regaling Albus with the tale of Hagrid's first lesson, something involving Harry flying about on the back of a hippogriff (which Albus filed away for further questioning at a later date), Draco Malfoy's failure to heed instruction, Hagrid's poor supervision skills, and the Malfoy child's injury by that same hippogriff.

 _'Unfortunate, Severus,' Albus had agreed when the Potions master at last stopped for breath, 'But I take it the child has already been seen by Madam Pomfrey?'_

 _'Of course!' Severus spat in annoyance, still pacing in front of the hearth. 'I've just come from the Hospital Wing. Poppy fixed the cut immediately and gave Draco a Blood-Replenishing Potion. But that does not change the fact, Albus, that –'_

 _'That what?' Albus interrupted, a bit wearily. The day had already been far too long. 'That a child was injured? Of course not, Severus. I shall speak to Hagrid about the circumstances, naturally, and impress upon him the need for caution and easing his students into handling dangerous beasts. Although it sounds like Mr Malfoy has been thoroughly healed at this juncture, I shall also make a point to check in on him, if that would ease your mind,' he added._

 _Severus crossed his arms, still glaring. 'That will not be enough,' he said through clenched teeth. 'Perhaps you do not understand the situation, Albus, or do not_ care _to consider it… but this injury will not resolve in a matter of minutes. We are facing a much more serious problem.'_

 _Albus raised an eyebrow. 'From a hippogriff, Severus?' he clarified in disbelief. 'If there was no injury to the bone, I fail to see how. Hippogriff talons are not poisonous, as you know. A most unfortunate accident, of course, but hardly the first time a child has been injured in a Care of Magical Creatures lesson. Nor even as serious as some of the injuries that have arisen in_ your _lessons, Severus. Rather par for the course, in fact, if it is not indelicate of me to say so.'_

 _'Draco is still claiming to be in unbearable pain,' Severus ground out with a scowl. 'Falsely, I have no doubt, but it makes little difference. He is Lucius's son, Albus. Do you really expect this to clear quietly? I would be surprised if the Minister does not hear of the incident tonight, at the latest. You should expect an inquiry to open tomorrow.'_

 _He swept for the door, though Albus had not dismissed him._

 _'I do not care for Hagrid's teaching style,' he clarified, setting a hand on the knob. 'But all the same, what happened this afternoon was not entirely his fault. And you will have to fight his battle with Fudge and the governors, if you wish him to remain in the post. Lucius is_ most _vindictive when he wishes to be… and he owes you a humiliation at the moment. I should not forget that.'_

 _Albus sighed heavily, sinking into the highbacked chair behind his desk._

 _'I forget very little, Severus,' he assured the Potions master with feeling._

 _Severus frowned, but swept from the room without another word._

Which is how Albus came to be sitting across from Cornelius Fudge on Thursday morning, sharing tea in front of the fireplace… only three or four hours after at last coming back in from comforting a miserable and heavily-drunk Hagrid.

Cornelius was, ostensibly, here to check in on the Sirius Black situation. He brought news that a Muggle had phoned in a tip to the hotline early that morning, from a village not ten miles from the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Though the news was interesting, it was hardly surprising. They'd known for weeks that Sirius Black was in the general area, and the Dementors had – once again – failed to capture him. It was evident to the headmaster that this sort of information could have been relayed by floo… so he was unsurprised when Fudge turned the conversation to Lucius Malfoy's son and the incident in lessons yesterday.

Fudge was nervous, spinning his bowler hat round and round his index finger and bouncing his crossed knees.

'… Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, naturally,' he droned on, clearly oblivious to Albus' disinterest or the growing ache above his eye. 'To deal with the hippogriff, of course. Got to have a hearing. And I expect I can tell Lucius that you'll be suspending his teaching privileges, at the very least, until such time as –'

'No, you most certainly may not,' Albus said, interrupting at last as he registered the tail end of the Minister's rant.

Fudge looked gobsmacked. 'I – pardon, Albus?' he prompted.

'You may not tell Lucius Malfoy that I am suspending Hagrid,' he clarified, 'Because I shall not be doing anything of the kind.'

Fudge spun the hat more viciously still, looking aghast. 'But, Dumbledore!' he said in surprise. 'I mean to say, it's mad – setting hippogriffs loose among third form students… Hagrid is a pleasant fellow, I'll give you that, but he's clearly not up to teaching. Might be beyond him, poor man. And with a child so grievously injured, I would have thought _you_ of all people –'

'I trust Hagrid completely,' Albus affirmed. His tone was pleasant, but there was a bit of fire in his eyes that he knew was not lost on the gormless Minister before him. 'And though I will certainly investigate the incident to the best of my abilities and present my findings and recommendations to the Board as required, I sincerely doubt that my opinion on his competency to teach will be altered in any way. Draco Malfoy, most fortuitously, will make a full and complete recovery, and thus I see little reason to involve the Ministry in the administrative processes of the school. It is within your right to hold a trial for the hippogriff, of course. But I would remind you that the dealings of _Hogwarts_ , Minister, are solely within _my_ sphere of authority.'

Fudge paled a few shades. 'Of… of course, Dumbledore,' he said, swallowing thickly. 'I… never meant to suggest… always know what to do, you do… wouldn't dream of…'

He was sweating slightly, and Albus realised that he may have let too much of his own temper loose in his irritation. It was not the portly little man's fault that the past week had been unusually trying.

And he ought to take a headache potion, because spontaneous show of temper was most _certainly_ not a usual characteristic in himself, either. Not for decades.

'Of course that is not what you meant, Cornelius,' Albus said aloud, trying to make his voice lighter. 'I do apologise: I am afraid I have rather a headache this morning and am not quite myself. If there's nothing else…?'

'I, no, Albus, I think that's everything,' said Cornelius, now looking mildly concerned as he shook the headmaster's hand and pulled his pinstripe cloak off the back of the chair. 'Perhaps you should get some rest. I'll be in touch if there are any new leads from the investigation, yes?'

Albus inclined his head, getting to his own feet. He bowed the Minister through the floo, then summoned a potion for his headache immediately.

He'd take a few hours before he went down to see to the distraught gamekeeper, he thought.

He'd barely caught the summoned phial when there was a knock on his office door again. He closed his eyes for a moment, willing whoever it was to come bearing _good_ news, for once.

'Come in,' he called in as cheerful a voice as he could muster. He downed the potion as the door swung ajar, exceedingly grateful as the pounding in his skull receded instantly.

'Goodness, are you alright?' Minerva asked in concern, eying the empty phial sliding into the headmaster's pocket as she shut the door gently behind her.

'Right as rain, my dear,' Albus assured her with a smile. 'Merely tempering a Minister-induced headache.'

She frowned, looking unconvinced. 'Albus, if you're feeling ill –' she began in lecture mode, but he forestalled her with a raised hand.

'I am fine,' he assured her. 'Simply feeling the effects of stress and age, I fear. It has been a more tumultuous start to the term than I remember these past fifteen years or so.'

'Humpf,' Minerva huffed in agreement.

Albus smiled at her. 'So please,' he said, 'Do promise me you are not about to announce that there's been an outbreak of Mumblemumps among the fifth years, or that Harry has somehow fallen fifty feet from his broomstick practising that ridiculous "feint," or that Severus has finally snapped and murdered his incoming class of Hufflepuffs…'

Minerva gave a coy smile of her own. 'Nothing of the sort,' she assured him, wandering over to the sofa and patting the cushion next to her. 'I came to announce that I have back to back free periods this morning, and absolutely nothing pressing that need be completed.'

Albus sank onto the proffered cushion, setting an elbow on the back of the sofa and propping his perfectly-normal-feeling head up to stare into her eyes.

'Well,' he said, his own eyes twinkling, 'Thank Merlin for small mercies.'

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'Mr Malfoy, please take your seat,' Severus said, gesturing toward the open work table as Draco Malfoy entered the room halfway through his Slytherin-Gryffindor double period on Thursday morning.

A great deal of mutinous muttering broke out from the lion side of the classroom as Draco swaggered to his seat, clutching his bandaged right arm to his chest in dramatic fashion. Personally, Severus was in two-minds about the injury. He thought Hagrid had been foolish in the extreme, trusting third year students in their first ever Care of Magical Creatures lesson to keep their heads around hippogriffs. He wasn't at all surprised that someone had been wounded. On the other hand, he knew Draco was milking the injury beyond all reason, having been perfectly healed by the mediwitch the previous afternoon under Severus' own watch.

Still, it was most amusing to watch the seething indignation on every Gryffindor face.

'Settle down,' he said warningly, pointing his wand at the classroom door that Draco had not bothered to shut. 'And back to your Shrinking Solutions.'

He had barely returned to his own perusal of his N.E.W.T. class's summer essays when he heard Draco call out:

'Sir… I can't slice my daisy roots, sir… because of my arm.'

'Weasley, slice Draco's daisy roots,' Severus ordered without looking up.

Weasley mumbled something under his breath, pulling the pile of roots toward him. Severus gave the situation the length of the remainder of Kerrigan Spratt's assignment before sweeping from his desk again.

'Professor Snape, Weasley's mutilating my roots, sir,' Draco complained as he approached.

Severus stared down at the mound of roughly-hacked roots in front of Draco, then at the perfectly diced version in front of the red-haired boy. He sneered.

'Trade roots with Mr Malfoy, Weasley,' he said silkily.

Weasley gaped at him. 'But that's not –'

'Now,' Severus demanded. The Gryffindor scowled, but shoved his pile obediently toward Draco, pulling the mutilated set toward himself with ill grace.

'And, I need this shrivelfig skinned,' Draco added, as Severus made to move away.

'Potter – skin the shrivelfig,' he barked over his shoulder, sending the purple bulb to Potter's desk with a lazy flick of his hand. Potter began to attack the plant as though it wore Draco's face, and Severus stalked off through the other rows of working students, smirking at the small pleasures.

His slightly improved mood faded, however, as he glanced in each cauldron. Granger had made a near-perfect effort already. Most of the other Gryffindor cauldrons were passable, at best; possibly toxic at worse. Potter and Weasley were behind, having paused their own brewing to assist Draco's preparation… and Draco, who was usually the best of his Slytherin third-year students, had not even started. Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass had concocted reasonably decent solutions, but Pansy, Goyle and Crabbe were all leaning away from noxious gas pouring from their own. And Neville Longbottom's was…

'Orange,' he said in disgust, ladling out a portion of the brew for the rest of the class to see. 'Pathetic, Longbottom. Were you even reading the instructions? This travesty would shrink nothing but the lifespan of whoever were to drink it, you insolent fool!'

'Sir,' Ms Granger ventured, leaning around her cauldron. 'Sir, I could help him put it right, if you –'

'You will do your own work and not concern yourself with the tasks of others!' Severus snapped at her. Granger went pink, and Potter and Weasley glared at him.

Severus checked his wristwatch. 'There are forty-five minutes remaining in this lesson,' he told Longbottom. 'You have until the end of the period to attempt to fix this disaster. At that point, we will test your effort on your toad… perhaps that will motivate you to do it properly.'

Longbottom gulped, diving feverishly for his book as Severus headed off to check Blaise Zabini's work.

'Do not aide him, Granger,' he reminded over his shoulder, when he caught the flash of bushy hair leaning in toward Longbottom's cauldron. She squeaked a bit, moving back to her own station.

As Severus continued to prowl about the classroom, he heard Finnegan call Potter's attention in a hushed voice.

'Oi, Harry – you hear the news about Sirius Black?' the boy asked.

Severus paused, pretending to examine the copious smoke coming from Goyle's cauldron while he listened.

'No, what's up?' Potter hissed back.

'They reckon he's been spotted,' Finnegan said conspiratorially. 'Not too far from Hogsmeade… a Muggle rung in a tip. Didn't know what it was all about, o' course, but the Ministry's been looking into it.'

Severus moved on, vanishing the useless potion as he left the table. He'd heard this news already: it had been in the _Daily Prophet_ that morning.

Draco, however, who had been bullying Weasley into dicing up some caterpillars, broke into a wicked grin.

'Going to have a go, are you, Potter?' he needled.

'What are you on about?' Potter sniped back.

'Well… if it were _me_ ,' Draco continued, 'I'd want _revenge_ , you know. I'd want to hunt him down myself. I wouldn't be playing the good boy sat here at the school…'

Severus felt blood begin to pound at his ears. _Had Lucius known, then?_

Severus never had… but then, Lucius had always been much closer to the Dark Lord… part of the inner circle. Lucius had known about the diary, after all, when Severus had never heard of it before. If the Dark Lord had confided about his spy in the Order, he would have done so to Lucius, Bella and maybe a few others. Those that had been his closest confidants… who had known more of his secrets than any others. Or, perhaps, Lucius had merely guessed the truth after Black's capture… But either way, Lucius, in turn, must have told Draco…

'Why would I want to hunt down a nutter?' Potter shot back scathingly. But Severus could hear the bewilderment behind the statement.

Draco's sneer grew wider. 'Don't tell me you don't _know_ , Potter?' he asked jeeringly.

'What are you –'

'Potter!' Severus barked, cutting into the conversation before it could go any farther down this dangerous path. 'You should have progressed to the final stage by now. This brew needs to simmer in order to set. End your little tea party and add the syrup of hellebore before you earn yourself a zero for today's effort!'

Severus' rancorous mood stayed with him the whole of the rest of the lesson; made worse by Longbottom's successful re-brewing of his Shrinking Solution, which effectively turned his enormous toad into a wriggling tadpole. He unleashed his temper on Granger instead – who had to be the only reason the boy had managed a recovery – and slashed Gryffindor twenty points for her deliberate disregard for his instruction. Any satisfaction he might have expected from the discipline was marred, however, by the persistent ring of Draco's taunts to Potter that echoed in his head throughout the remainder of the lesson… and as he dismissed the class, he resolved to act on them.

'A word, Potter,' Severus said, putting out an arm to stop the boy as he made to leave behind Weasley and Granger. All three of the Gryffindors stopped, staring up at him distrustfully.

'Sir?' Potter asked, looking wary.

'Ms Granger, Weasley, on your way,' Severus said, nodding the other two toward the door with a jerk of his head.

'But –' Weasley tried to interrupt.

'On your way now, Weasley, or it shall be twenty points from Gryffindor. Mr Potter will join you shortly.'

'Come on, Ron,' Granger muttered in his ear, and she dragged the Weasley boy from the classroom. Severus snapped the door shut behind them and whirled to face Potter, who still looked like he thought the professor might eat him.

'Sit,' he said curtly. Potter sank onto the nearest student chair, biting his lip.

'Er – sir, I have Defence Against the Dark Arts next,' he reminded him.

'I am aware,' said Severus sardonically.

'Well, er, Professor Lupin might be angry if I'm late, you see –'

'Lupin is covering boggarts with your class today,' Severus told him smoothly. 'As we both know, you have had experience with these creatures already, and I do not anticipate that even Lupin would not be foolish enough to allow _your_ boggart to take form in front of a classroom full of students.'

'Er… right,' Potter said, giving in.

'I shall take you there myself when we are through speaking,' Severus added.

'I can probably find my own –'

But Severus glared at Potter, and the boy cut himself off.

'Right sir, of course,' he amended quickly. 'Er – what is it we need to speak about?'

Severus stared hard at the boy. 'Whatever Mr Malfoy has said to you,' he began carefully, obsidian eyes boring into emerald, 'I think it important to remind you that you are skating thin ice, Potter. You are not to do anything foolish or reckless this term.'

The boy scowled. 'I _don't_ do anything reckless on _purpose_!' he protested.

Severus continued to glare. 'And yet,' he reminded him, 'You have spent the summer in and out of hospital, dancing with death like it is your personal game,' he pointed out. 'You have run off into the forest after mass murderers known to be out for your blood, you left the wards of your aunt and uncle's house without any indication of where you were headed, you were kidnapped from the Edinburgh stadium _and_ you still seem unable to grasp the seriousness of your current situation.'

Potter looked infuriated. ' _None_ of that was my fault!' he said hotly. 'Sir,' he amended. 'Well, except maybe the time in the forest. But it's not like I go about with my eyes shut!'

'I doubt it would make much difference,' Severus said waspishly. 'And in any case, you must _never_ run off after Black again, do you hear me? I want you to swear it now, Potter.'

Potter stared. 'But… why would I deliberately go after someone I know wants to kill me?' he asked, now gaping at Severus as though he were quite mad.

'That is not what I suggested,' said Severus. 'And if you have any sense at all, you will continue to recognise the danger in doing so. But, as you have already proven: you have a tendency to run headlong into _whatever_ is trying to kill you, Potter. So, I want you to swear to _me_ , now, that whatever you may hear; whatever you might learn or think or _feel_ … you will _not_ chase dangers this term. You may get yourself, or others, killed, Potter. And neither I nor any of the staff have the time or inclination to spend _our_ school term running off to catch you when you fall. Do you understand me?'

'I… I shan't go after him, sir,' Potter promised, still looking confused. 'But what are you –'

'Good,' Severus said firmly over him. He intensified his glare again. 'And make no mistake, Potter,' he warned. 'If I ever find that you have _broken_ this promise, the consequences will be more dire than you could possibly imagine. You will find yourself wishing all you faced was the threat of expulsion…'

He trailed off suggestively, relishing the look of apprehension on Potter's foolish face.

'Do you understand?' Severus repeated.

'I – yes, sir,' said Potter finally, swallowing hard.

'Now, there was one other point I wished to discuss,' Severus continued. 'Wandless magic. We shall not, I'm afraid, have the time during term to cover anything substantial, as your timetable and my own will not allow it, but I expect to see you once every fortnight for continued lessons. Else, I am certain anything you might have learned over the summer will have drained out by the end of the year: we all know the meagre span of attention you possess,' he added nastily. 'So let's say… Thursday evenings. Eight o'clock tonight shall do for our first.'

'Eight p.m.?' Potter complained at once. 'But, sir, quidditch –'

' _Eight_ p.m.,' Severus repeated firmly, a dangerous glint in his eye. 'And remember, Potter, you are to tell no one what you are doing. You may inform anyone who asks that you are serving standing detentions with me. Nobody who has seen you in my Potions lessons will doubt it.'

Potter scowled mutinously. 'Yeah, I'll be sure to do that, sir,' he muttered.

Severus sneered. 'Until tonight, then,' Severus said, pushing back from his desk. 'Come. I shall take you to your Defence class.'

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'Sir, it's up another flight,' said Harry in confusion, when Snape veered off at the fourth landing. Snape continued in his sweeping prowl without turning.

'I _know_ where the wo- where _Lupin_ 's classroom is, Potter!' Snape snapped at him.

'Well then why are you –' Harry began to counter in confusion. But Snape cut across him.

'Lupin is teaching in the staff room this morning,' he said impatiently to Harry. 'Apparently, he found it far too cumbersome to move the boggart that had taken up residence in the spare wardrobe into his own classroom for practical learning. It was far more suitable for him to inconvenience the rest of us.'

Harry frowned, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Having spent the whole of the summer in close proximity to both wizards, he knew the dislike between Snape and Remus was quite mutual. And though Remus was careful not to openly speak ill of his colleague, Snape never bothered to show reciprocal curtesy. Harry could read a level of loathing in Snape's eyes every time he looked at Remus that surpassed even the personal dose he'd come to expect from the Potions master.

So he didn't bother to argue Remus' corner on the boggart issue. He was intrigued by another point in Snape's little rant, however.

'So, he's not using my boggart?' Harry clarified, thinking of the locked trunk in Remus' sitting room.

Snape's leer grew wider. 'No, Potter,' he said in obvious derision. 'Lupin is not using " _your_ " boggart.'

Harry shrugged. 'I'm just surprised he's managed to find another so quickly,' he defended himself. 'I mean – I'd never seen one before this summer… if there's so many to be found in one castle, you'd think people would notice them more.'

'Boggarts prefer dark, enclosed spaces,' Snape reminded him. 'Such places rarely remain so unless they are in little-used locations. These are not parts of the castle you would normally find yourself exploring as a student, Potter.'

Harry wanted to counter that he, personally, had been in _far_ more secluded and unknowable spots than most of the students at Hogwarts already… but he knew that Snape would only take greater issue with that. He might even give him an actual detention.

So he stayed silent for the rest of the walk.

A few minutes later, Harry and Snape finally reached the staffroom door. There was a great deal of laughter coming from beyond the wood panels. Harry wondered what all the fuss was about. Snape, meanwhile, seemed to grow even more rancorous with the chorus of giggling. He pushed open the door without knocking, sending it banging off the wall inside…

And both he and Harry froze.

The entire class had turned to the door when Snape threw it ajar. Including, to Harry's shock, a _second_ Professor Snape. The doppelganger-Snape was dressed in long, flowing green ladies' robes, a fox fur shawl and a huge hat with a stuffed bird set atop. He swung a massive red handbag from one elbow: the _thunk_ of the leather hitting Neville Longbottom's arm was the only sound in the suddenly silent room. The students were all staring open-mouthed from Snape to Snape, and Neville was trembling so badly Harry thought he might wet himself.

Harry would have found the situation incredibly funny in a Pensieve… but, living it, he was pretty certain the entire class _and_ Professor Lupin were in imminent danger of death.

The green-dressed Snape seemed to recover first. He shuffled forward toward his twin, tripping a bit on the edge of the long dress robes. Then he seemed to shrink, falling toward the floor… his hair was lengthening and changing pigment as the hat vanished… going redder…

'Potter!' Snape bellowed abruptly, his face completely drained of colour.

He threw Harry in front of him so suddenly and with such force that his glasses were thrown from his face and his wand skittered away across the floor. Harry fell hard to his knees in front of the changing boggart, which reacted instantly. The creature lengthened again, drawing up from the floor as its green robes turned black as night, tattered and blowing as if in a high wind. Harry felt the cold begin to pull at him again as he reached for his wand, cursing Snape – who only _minutes_ ago had stated he would not have to see this boggart-Dementor in front of a class…

'Here!' Remus shouted through the fog in Harry's brain.

He stepped smoothly in front of Harry, blocking his view of the Dementor. Harry felt the sickening cold vanish as the boggart shifted again, and heard the professor cry, ' _Riddikulus!_ ' as he pointed his wand at the form. Remus backed what looked like a ball of light into the open teacher's wardrobe, and slammed the doors quickly shut with a charm.

The rest of the class was still and silent, terrified eyes darting between Harry, Snape and Remus.

'Lupin, is this a lesson or a circus!' Snape hissed, glaring at the other professor as Remus turned back from the wardrobe. His face was still white, and his hand gripped the handle of his wand so tightly that Harry thought the first one to move would probably need the hospital wing. In all the time he'd known him, Harry didn't think he'd ever seen Snape so angry.

Remus reached out a hand to help Harry off the floor, frowning as he looked at Snape.

'Apologies, Severus,' he said mildly. 'Though you might have knocked, knowing how delicate dealing with boggarts can be.'

'Why isn't there some semblance of a barrier set up?' Snape shot back, ignoring the reprimand. 'This is sloppy, Lupin, even for you – somebody could be injured!'

'Severus, they are –'

'Whose boggart did I interrupt?' Snape asked instead, addressing the class now. He swept his dark gaze over the sea of fearful faces, settling on the roundest one. 'Longbottom…' he continued, speaking the name with such contempt that Harry dearly wanted to hit him. 'I could have guessed, I suppose.'

He turned back to Remus with his more trademark sneer back in place, though his face had not yet regained its colour. 'If you had consulted with _me_ , Lupin,' he said in a dangerous voice, 'I could have told you that Longbottom causes catastrophic destruction with the simplest of spells. To ask him to demonstrate a boggart-banishing charm is akin to –'

'Neville didn't cause the catastrophe!' put in Dean Thomas hotly from the back of the room. 'He was doing fine. _You_ were the one who –'

'Twenty points from Gryffindor, Thomas!' Snape shouted. 'And if you ever interrupt me again, it will be one hundred.'

'Thank you for delivering Harry, Severus,' Remus said in a slightly raised voice, stepping forward with his hand on Harry's shoulder before anyone else could add fuel to the fire.

Snape looked between the class and Remus with a scowl, and then directly at Harry. Though his lips were still white with fury, Harry found his eyes quite unreadable as they searched his own.

'Eight o'clock, Potter,' he said curtly to Harry. And he swept from the classroom without another word.

'Sorry Re-er, professor,' Harry said when the door had shut behind the Potions master again. He felt a bit pink in the cheeks, wishing he'd just skipped the lesson instead of causing all this mayhem. Remus squeezed his shoulder in a reassuring way.

'That's quite alright, Harry,' he said warmly. 'Why don't you go and join your classmates, and we'll pick up again in a moment once everyone has calmed down a bit. Mr Thomas,' he added, pushing Harry gently forward toward Ron and Hermione as he turned his attention to Dean, 'I shall return the twenty points to Gryffindor, although I do advise you to be cautious around Severus in future.'

Dean and Seamus exchanged gleeful looks.

'He's going to _kill_ me!' squeaked Neville in terror, as Harry stepped over to join him, Hermione and Ron. Neville's eyes were filled with tears, and his nails were bit to the quick already in anxiety. Harry shook his head bracingly.

'You'll be fine, Neville,' Harry said, 'Don't worry. If anything, he'll kill me. I'm the one who's got detention with him tonight… and I'm the reason he was up here at all,' he told him.

Neville did not look comforted.

'Why have you got detention?' Ron asked with a scowl, once Professor Lupin had called everyone to order again and coaxed Parvati Patil forward to have a go with the boggart. 'You're not wrong – he probably _will_ kill you.'

'I haven't,' Harry replied in an undertone, so only Ron and Hermione would hear. Most of the rest of the class was focused on cheering on their mates now, but he didn't want to risk anything. 'I've got lessons – once a week. He wants to carry on with the wandless stuff.'

'Ooh, that's exciting!' Hermione whispered. 'What do you think –'

'Ron!' called Professor Lupin suddenly, interrupting their huddle. Harry and Hermione straightened up to watch Ron do battle with a massive spider. He succeeded in removing its legs, and the class cheered as the de-limbed arachnid rolled its way back over toward Neville.

'Go on, Neville, you can do it!' Harry said encouragingly, as Neville's face whitened when the spider came to a halt at his feet. Neville gulped audibly, but put all he could into the charm as the boggart-Snape took form again.

In moments, Snape stood before them dressed in his witch's outfit again, a very un-Snape-like expression of confusion on its face as it tottered on its heels.

'And… laughter!' Remus prompted from the front of the room. Harry had the sneaking suspicion this part hadn't been difficult, before he and the real Snape had burst in on the lesson.

Seeing the rest of his House falter, Harry let out the first chuckle. Ron followed suit beside him, then Dean and Seamus joined in. At last, most of the class was laughing openly as boggart-Snape turned around, looking more and more confused.

'You too, Neville!' Remus called. 'It has to be you!'

Neville hesitated for a moment, biting his lip. And then he let out a great 'Ha!' of laughter, and the boggart vanished in a puff of grey smoke.

The class applauded.

'Great work, everyone, excellent work!' Remus said, clapping his own hands together as everyone settled down again. 'Let's see… yes, I think: ten points to everyone who tackled the boggart today. Twenty to Neville, as he did it twice. And ten for Hermione, as she answered my questions correctly at the start of the lesson.'

The grins grew wider, as everyone contemplated the huge upsurge in points from this lesson. Remus smiled.

'For homework, please read chapter five in your textbooks, and summarise the boggart-banishing technique for me. Now you'd better be off, or you'll be late for lunch!'

He shooed them all toward the door, and Harry fell into step with Ron and Hermione as they followed their excited class down toward the Great Hall. He wanted to stay behind and congratulate Remus on a great first lesson (even though he and Snape had nearly ruined it), but he didn't think he ought to draw any more attention to himself this morning. Instead, he gave the new professor a grin and a thumbs up as they headed out into the corridor.

'I wish I'd had a go at the boggart' said Hermione with a sigh.

'Why, what would it have been for you?' asked Ron, who sounded as though he was holding back a chuckle with difficulty. 'A subpar essay?'

Hermione looked a bit affronted, and Harry stepped in quickly. 'Well, _I_ wish Snape hadn't thrown me like that,' he said, a little bitterly. 'I didn't get a chance to go either.'

'Yeah, but if Remus hadn't stepped in, yours would have sent everyone into a panic,' Ron pointed out truthfully.

'Maybe not if I had my wand,' said Harry.

'But you missed the lesson on the charm,' Hermione put in with a frown. 'You wouldn't have known –'

'Remus taught it to me over the summer hols,' Harry corrected. 'I've known it for weeks.'

'Poor Neville,' Ron said with a shake of his head. 'I reckon Potions is going to be torture for him on Tuesday.'

'For all of us,' said Hermione sagely. 'He won't be happy we all saw it.'

'At least you've got the week-end,' muttered Harry. ' _I_ get to see him this evening… and I've got to tell Wood I can't be at practice because I've got detention…'

'I wonder what Snape's boggart was going to be?' said Hermione at Harry's ear, when the three of them had pulled over plates of sandwiches at the Gryffindor table several minutes later. 'It started to change when it saw him. Did you notice?'

'Not really,' Harry admitted with a shrug, pouring himself a goblet of pumpkin juice. 'He shoved me at it so quickly, I didn't really get time for a proper look.'

'Prob'ly a bo'le of 'ampoo,' said Ron from Harry's other side. Hermione gave him a scathing look, as he swallowed the massive bite of roast beef.

'I don't think so…' she mused, picking at her own plate. 'It looked like it was shifting into a woman, I think… with long hair… but it was hard to tell; it changed so quickly into yours, Harry.'

'Yeah, maybe,' said Harry without much interest.

He couldn't help feeling, at this moment, he cared far less for what Snape's greatest fear might be than his own chances of surviving the night.

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 _'Christmas drinkies then, is it?' Marley asked, shaking snow out of the hood of her cloak as she entered the drawing room of the inn._

 _Remus giggled and Lily hiccupped on her glass of Firewhisky, the still-new ring on her finger catching a bit in her long hair. James reached over to push it tenderly behind her ear but missed, knocking her tumbler to the ground instead. Peter laughed so hard at her look of indignation that he fell off his own chair._

 _'Pathetic,' Marley said lightly, tossing the discarded cloak at Sirius with a wicked grin. 'Chuck us one, won't you?'_

 _Sirius flicked his wand at the wet fabric before it could slap his face, sending the cloak to drape over the back of the sofa instead. With a second lazy flick, he set a bottle of champagne to pour over a new glass and floated the drink to the newcomer._

 _'Ta,' said Marley, inclining her head as she raised the glass._

 _'Oi, what am I then?' Sean grumbled irritably as he stalked into the room behind his sister, even more snow-drenched than she had been._

 _'You get your own,' Sirius replied with a grin. '_ _No tits – no serv- argh!'_ _He broke off, sputtering as his mouth filled with soap suds. Infuriated, he turned to glare at his companions, but they were all rolling with laughter again at his plight, none taking the credit._

 _'You've been begging for it for years, Mr Black,' a new voice offered in amusement from the door to the kitchen. Sirius whipped round to see Minerva McGonagall standing in the doorframe, one hand balancing a tray of assorted biscuits and the other still gripping the guilty wand. Emmeline Vance stood beside her, wearing a look somewhere between disapproval and amusement._

 _Sirius supposed they must have come in with the McKinnons._

 _'Class, Sirius,' Emmeline chastised. She pointed her own wand at the Firewhisky, which dutifully poured itself into a crystal glass for Sean. He thanked her as he lifted it._

 _'You lot need to eat something,' Minerva said in disapproval, gesturing toward the tray of biscuits as she set them on the low table. 'You're half-sloshed already.'_

 _'We had dinner, Professor,' Remus assured her. But he reached for a chocolate-drenched biscuit all the same. James broke a second in two, feeding half to Lily with his hazel eyes glinting. She took it off his finger with an unnecessary bite, smirking as she swallowed. Peter watched with wide eyes, as if hoping to pick up tips._

 _'Can't you two go five minutes?' Sirius griped, as James leaned in to kiss a smudge off the corner of Lily's mouth. 'That's what I'd like for Christmas.'_

 _'Piss off,' James said lightly, not turning from Lily. But he ducked automatically as Minerva raised her wand threateningly again._

 _'Hey!' Sirius complained, when she stowed it again with merely a warning glare. 'How come he doesn't get suds?'_

 _'Less offensive,' Minerva replied curtly, choosing a ginger newt for herself. Sirius crossed his arms._

 _'That's favouritism, plain and simple,' he groused._

 _Sean clapped a hand on his shoulder. 'Budge up there,' he ordered. And Sirius moved over so he could sit on the sofa._

 _'Blimey, I'm knackered,' Sean said, leaning back against the cushions with an audible sigh of relief. Sirius looked between him and the women curiously._

 _'Was it a rough one?' he asked, frowning._

 _Marley shook her head. The firelight danced off the gold in her hair. 'Not really,' she assured him. 'Just routine, for the most part. Minerva caught Mundungus trying to sneak off with a questionable box of trinkets, but no Death Eaters about. I reckon they'll stay quiet for a few days – don't want to push it after the ruckus last week in Bristol.'_

 _'Don't be too sure,' said Emmeline darkly._

 _There was a sticky silence, as everyone contemplated their drinks._

 _'Want a game?' Remus suggested after a moment, shaking a box of gobstones from under the table. Lily broke out in a wicked grin._

 _'Alright then,' she agreed, leaning in first. 'Who's on my team?'_

 _'Me,' Minerva volunteered at once. 'That's not a mistake I'll be making again.'_

 _There was some good-natured squabbling for a time, as everyone chose partners. They got through four rounds, Lily winning every time. The complaints grew more and more boisterous as their supply of liquor dwindled, everyone alternatively laughing and cursing at one another. Sirius found himself watching his partner, Marley, more and more closely as the night drew on… almost absentmindedly. She wasn't much better than him at gobstones, but he found it wasn't really first on his mind anymore. He was admiring the cut of her blouse, the way the simple black of the clothing clung at her waist, emphasising her figure. He wondered if she'd always worn things like this, under the Hogwarts uniform… perhaps he'd just never really noticed it before._

 _She laughed again as Lily outmatched him, and his face was spattered with sticky goo. She leaned in to wipe it away for him…_

 _'Sirius,' a faint voice called._

 _Sirius felt someone shaking his shoulder. He started awake with a gasp – instantly alert._

 _'Wh-what?' he sputtered, pushing himself straight in the chair. 'What's wrong?'_

 _'Why don't you head to bed, sweetheart,' Emmeline said kindly, removing her hand from his shoulder as she leaned back into her own seat on the sofa. It had, apparently, been her hands that shook him awake. 'The others have just gone up.'_

 _'Wattime's it?' Sirius asked with a yawn. He pushed up the sleeve of his robes to glance at his wristwatch, but the little numbers were dancing a bit under the glass._

 _Ugh. Firewhisky._

 _'Half eleven,' Minerva informed him shortly. 'Really – how much did you lot have before we got here? You're all incoherent. I realise it is the holiday, but still…'_

 _'Aren't you going back to the castle?' Sirius asked pointedly._

 _Minerva shook her head, conjuring a glass of water into which she poured something that looked suspiciously like Sober-Up. 'Drink,' she told him, shoving the glass toward him. 'And no. Albus has charge for the night and Sylvia is watching the Gryffindors. There aren't many remaining this year, and it is my turn for a holiday off.'_

 _'Right,' said Sirius vaguely. He knocked back the mixture of potion and water, which cleared the haziness in his head considerably. It wasn't enough to completely sober him (they really had had_ quite _a lot to drink, tonight), but it brought him back to a pleasant level of buzz that he enjoyed far more than the feeling he might sick up any moment._

 _'Cheers,' he said gratefully, passing the empty glass back to Minerva. She took it with a smirk._

 _'I'm off to bed, then,' Sirius agreed._

 _'Never have thought we'd outlast the bairn,' Minerva said with a laugh, refiling Emmeline's glass and her own as Sirius pulled himself to his feet._

 _'Yeah, well, we were at it for a good three hours before you lot got back,' Sirius pointed out, a bit miffed._

 _Emmeline raised one condescending eyebrow. 'Do you require assistance mounting the stairs?' she asked with perfect politeness. 'I could call an elf…'_

 _'I'll manage,' said Sirius gruffly. His mind was only half on the conversation, already imagining the feather bed that awaited him upstairs._

 _'Bring Marlene her cloak, would you?' Emmeline asked, floating the travelling cloak toward him with her wand. 'She left it.'_

 _'Right,' Sirius agreed, catching the fabric. He left the room._

 _The cloak was still damp from the snow as he draped it over his arm. '_ Exaresco _,' he muttered, tapping the fabric with the tip of his wand. Instantly a whoosh of warm air flew through the fabric, drying it. The gust through the cloth wafted a faint scent through the air: Marley's scent, Sirius realised curiously. Like a mix of pear and freesia._

 _He toddled off the stairs at the first-floor landing, remembering vaguely that Marley's room was a few doors down from his own. He'd just raised his hand to knock when the door was opened from the inside._

 _'Oh! Hey,' Marley said, opening the door a bit wider._

 _Sirius stared. She had undressed for the night, her gold curls falling softly around her shoulders and half-way down her back. In her hand, she held a toothbrush and a little cosmetic bag. She was barefoot. And she was wearing nothing but a silkily little red nightdress – one that barely fell past her hips. It had a matching wrap tied loosely around her waist, in a dancing snowflake pattern… but the wrap was slipping off one shoulder, and Sirius could see every curve the satin gown was hugging…_

 _'Er- hi,' Sirius said lamely. He realised, vaguely, that his first was still raised to knock, and brought it quickly down again. He cleared his throat. 'You left this in the sitting room,' he informed her unnecessarily, holding out the cloak._

 _'Oh, right,' she said, taking it from him and tossing it back on her bed. 'Thanks.'_

 _'No problem,' Sirius grunted._

 _There was an awkward moment, where he realised he was stalling too long… that he ought to go to bed… she was looking at him curiously, but he couldn't seem to make his feet move._

 _'I was just…' she pointed vaguely in the direction of the loo, and Sirius realised he was blocking her way._

 _'Oh, right,' he said, stepping aside._

 _She padded past him on her bare feet. Her toenails matched the scarlet of her satin… thing. Which was as clingy in the back as in the front, though the kimono wrap hid parts of it…_

 _'I like your perfume,' he blurted out, as she reached the door of the loo._

 _She paused, tossing her hair as she gave him a scathing look over her shoulder._

 _He shrugged. 'It was on your cloak,' he informed her with a grin._

 _Marley seemed to think a moment, biting at her lip. Sirius watched… wondering how it tasted. He felt a stirring that he might have attributed to excess of drink, or perhaps holiday cheer… or, maybe, just the adrenaline that seemed to rule their lives these days. Before he knew what had happened, she had padded back toward him, her eyes dancing. She leaned in close to him, standing on tiptoe to breath on his neck. One slender hand rested against his chest as she inhaled deeply._

 _'I like the way you smell too,' she said in a whisper._

 _'Firewhisky,' Sirius grunted, half-joking. 'I haven't got anything on…'_

 _'Mmm… but you smell like….'_

 _She breathed again, and Sirius prayed she wouldn't lean closer… afraid she might realise what she was doing to him._

 _'Like bedtime,' she said, stepping back with a_ very _mischievous look in her eyes. Her hand never left his chest._

 _Sirius held her gaze._

 _'Where are the others?' he asked in a low grunt._

 _'Gone to bed, I expect,' Marley said with a shrug. 'I was the last up.' She leaned up again, her breath hot on his ear. 'It's Christmas, Sirius,' she reminded him._

 _And he swung her up off the floor, before he could second-guess the move. She let out a muffled peel of laughter, wrapping her legs around his waist. Her mouth found his and she kissed him. Deep, and urgent – the sort of kiss that reminded one of the fact that they might only have this one night… this brief respite from war and destruction. The sort of kiss that screamed of hormones and rushing blood and mind-numbing, bone-breaking shagging._

 _Sirius walked them backwards, all thought of sleep forgotten as he fumbled a hand along the wall, feeling for his door handle. He found the correct latch at last, pushing it open and stumbling back-first into the room, his hands too busy holding her to him to bother with shutting the door properly. He kicked it closed instead, turning them for the bed. In one brilliant moment of sense, he flung up a Silencing Charm with the palm of his hand._

 _Marley protested as he tried to lower her back, twisting instead so that he went first, and straddling him. He undid the loose knot of her dressing gown with a practised yank, throwing the silky fabric aside. The feel of her bare skin beneath it was intoxicating, and he traced her shoulders and collarbone as she pulled his own robes over his head, closely followed by his shirt. He handled the buckle himself, while she was busy exploring his bare chest. Where her fingers traced, Sirius felt as sensitive as though someone were dripping ice across his skin. He felt his magic tingling with the rest of him… and he could feel hers as well. Just as electrifying. Just as volatile. Something on the bedside table went crashing to the floor._

 _'Up,' she croaked. Sirius raised his hips slightly, letting her pull his trousers off. He kicked off the socks and reached for her satin slip as she grasped the waist of his pants, both taking the final step together._

 _She was heaven beneath. Sirius paused for a moment, drinking in every curve – so much better than he'd imagined it. He wanted to touch every bit of her… wanted to explore, and to conquer. He wondered vaguely how someone he had known so well, for so many years, could still be uncharted territory: could still hold so many secrets and surprises. It was as if he knew her completely and yet not at all._

 _But that was an adventure for later, if she ever let him back again. Tonight – this first time – wasn't the moment for slow and gentle. It wasn't the moment for sweet or tender._

 _Tonight was about_ need _. Like that first kiss in the corridor, it was raw, real and in the moment. He couldn't take his time tonight. He wanted it all. And by the feel of her squirming against his hips, he knew she wanted the same._

 _So he gave it to her. Or she gave it to him. Sirius wasn't sure, even weeks later._

 _But he'd never forget it._

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 _'So… you going to take me to Lils and Jamie's wedding?' she teased, running slender fingers through the sparse hair on his chest some half hour later as they lay, finished but still entwined. 'Best man and chief bridesmaid… that's rather the thing to do, isn't it?'_

 _He lifted his head to catch her eyes, frowning slightly. 'You want to go together?' he asked her, unnerved. 'I, er, I hadn't thought –'_

 _'Relax you prat, I'm only winding you up,' she assured him, settling her head in the crook of his neck. From this position, he could feel her heart beating against his own chest. Slowly, the thrumming became synchronised. It was odd how that happened… like his body could sense the change, but embraced it anyway… It was soothing. He wondered if it was bad for his heart to mess with its rhythm like this._

 _'– Sean might have a stroke,' Marley was saying. The vibration of her voice tickled his neck._

 _And lower._

 _'Mmm?' Sirius asked in confusion, not having heard a word of her musings while his own were so loud._

 _'I said my brother would have a stroke,' she repeated slowly. 'If you brought me to the wedding, I mean.'_

 _'Oh. Er – yeah, he probably would do,' Sirius acknowledged. It was becoming harder and harder to keep his concentration on the conversation. He didn't feel remotely tipsy anymore… but he felt_ everything _else. Every nerve in his body was tingling._

 _Marley seemed to notice his distraction. She pushed back a bit to scrutinise his face. 'Are you bricking it?' she asked bluntly. 'Because it's not like… I mean, I meant it for a joke, Sirius,' she assured him quickly, clearly misreading his arrested expression. 'I'm not – you know – looking_ _for anything serious either. It's just shagging,' she told him with a wink._

 _She leaned forward and kissed his neck gently, just under his ear. The she started to move downward… very slowly… trailing his jaw… his clavicle… his chest… his stomach…_

 _'I – that isn't it,' Sirius gasped out. 'I'm not upset, I –'_

 _'No?' she said in mock surprise. She traced his navel very slowly with her tongue, her fingers wandering again… Sirius felt every hair he had stand on end, his breathing accelerate…_

 _'Well then, what is it?' the witch asked innocently. 'Because you look ready for flight at any – '_

 _'Fuck,' Sirius grunted in frustration. A painting on the opposite wall fell to the floor with a muffled thump._

 _In one, swift movement he'd flipped them, pinning her beneath him and crushing his lips to hers. He kept one hand in her hair, holding her head, and let his other hand do its own wandering. Marley arched toward him with a gasp as he found his target, her eyes fluttering…._

 _Twenty minutes later he flopped off her again, both of them breathless and panting. He was quite grateful he'd had the presence of mind to set the Silencing Charms… and he sincerely hoped Emmeline wouldn't pop round to wake him for breakfast before he could fix up the room a bit._

 _'Well, I hope this means I get a dance at the least,' Marley quipped, patting his chest brusquely as she leaned herself up on an elbow. 'Because I'm going to need a vat of guelder rose wine to get over tonight.'_

 _Sirius growled. 'Shut up,' he warned her. 'Or I'll do it again.'_

 _She giggled, but at that moment the door burst open. Marley's giggle turned into a horrified squeal, as she dove quickly off the side of the bed where he'd thrown her dressing gown. Sirius yanked the covers quickly up almost to his chin, feeling heat colouring his cheeks. In the light now streaming in through the door to the corridor, Sirius came to an odd realisation… the bedclothes in this room were blue, not the deep green of his own… and that was most_ certainly _not his tartan holdall on the bench…._

 _He didn't have time to contemplate much else, however, as his eyes were drawn back to the doorway, where Minerva stood frozen in a thunderous attitude, her arms crossed tightly over her chest._

 _'Why,' she began, in the clipped, steely voice that still made Sirius cower, 'Is it_ always _mine?'_

When he woke, Sirius was covered in sweat.

He pushed himself gingerly to his feet, grateful that his legs seemed quite steady now. The sharp pains of the cramping had gone; the dull ache in his stomach merely the echo of a night spent in agony. He'd take another dose of the Muggle medication, just in case… but it seemed the fever had broken.

And he couldn't remember the dream at all.

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 24:**

 **BlueWater5** : Thank you for reviewing! Glad you enjoyed the flashback battle. The action scenes are always tough to write, so it's great to hear that the readers like the finished product. Hope you like Chapter 25!

 **Leonore** : Thank you for your review! Although I am sorry it made you cry... I'm happy you enjoyed the chapter so much, particularly the 1980 scenes. You are correct in that I am planning to work in both timelines, and things will slowly fill in more and more as we go. This particular scene, for example, falls about a month after the prophecy is foretold… it also falls a month or so after the night James and Sirius learn Lily is pregnant (which is why James is not at top form). How that night and the prophecy relate to one another in time is something we've yet to learn. There are other clips from the past it will take this entire series to fully uncover. For instance, though we have slowly been learning more and more about the events of 31 October 1981, I can promise that we do _not_ have the full picture, yet, of what happened that night. In any case, I hope you like chapter 25!

 **Blimey2310** : Thank you for reviewing! I am glad to see you enjoyed the chapter. The flashback scene was one of my favourites in a while, and it's lovely to hear that you found it true to his character. I think you've hit the point – I'm not setting out to fundamentally alter the Snape we know and love (or love to hate), but rather to show a bit more of him and his many sides, through his POV. Hopefully, this is working for the readers. Enjoy the next chapter!

 **PMakepeace98** : Thank you for your review! It's great to hear you liked the chapter. I do hope this update comes soon enough… I'm trying my best! Pregnancy is going well – about four months to go, give or take. Trying to sort out names at the moment. :) Hope you like the next chapter!

 **AECM** : Thanks for your review! I'm happy you liked the chapter so much. I can promise we will definitely get more about the process by which Tom chose Harry… not only here, but in the later books as well. Thanksgiving is actually not a holiday in the UK – it is a real life, purely American tradition, as my father likes to say – but I thank you for your well wishes all the same, and hope you and your family have a lovely Thanksgiving! It _has_ been gaining some popularity here for the past few years… I went to a 'Brits-giving' last year, although I don't recall if we had it on actual Thanksgiving or not. I'm rather hopeful it _will_ take off, someday, as I'm quite fond of turkey. Mmm… don't get a pregnant woman in the mood for some sort of food…

In any case, I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

 **Shadowhunter** : Thank you for your review! I'm sorry life has been so stressful of late, but hopefully things will calm down by the holidays? It's nice to hear that you liked the bit with the Time-Turner… and I'm sure that is _exactly_ what Ron was thinking, haha. And yes, Severus is definitely 'grey'… it's interesting to me, because of course this _is_ his thinking when he's twenty years old, not in the present-day timeline, so there is a question of how much of what he thought remains true, and how much has altered. This is before Voldemort has decided to go after Lily – he only makes mention of the fact that it _might_ be her at the very end of the flashback, and already we see it is having an effect on Severus. We know what he eventually does once Voldemort decides the prophecy _does_ refer to Harry, though we're many months from that right now. How does the transition see an alteration in Severus's mindset? And of course, we have seen so much, now, of Lily and James and their life together, which paints a sharp contrast with the way Severus views their connection. Some of that I think _is_ his seeing what he wishes to see; and some is a deep, unrequited desire that he is totally powerless to overcome. It's a great example of how a story – with bits of truth – can really be told two very different ways. It doesn't necessarily make one right and the other wrong, at least, not entirely… it depends from whose perspective you are viewing the facts. Severus is biased, of course… his flashback thoughts are from one very firm lens; but there is also inherent bias in Sirius's flashback thoughts, and in Albus's, and even in Minerva's. When we are viewing _anything_ , really, we will always be seeing it from a certain angle, because of whoever's POV we happen to be in.

Minerva… yes, _definitely_ angry at the way Trelawney teaches. There are some similarities here, and some differences, from canon. She's definitely more upset, because of course she is more of a mum to Harry here than she was in canon. And she also knows of the prophecy, as Albus confided in her last book, so we as readers realise that Minerva's feelings toward Trelawney – and toward Trelawney predicting _anything_ to do with Harry, true or false – are a bit more complex than they once were.

Babies are well – four months and counting! Noodles are an excellent craving… although mine have been more odd, I think, than particularly practical. I've had an insatiable craving for sticky toffee pudding (which, to be fair, was a favourite of mine even before my pregnancy), Thai food and black currant. Just now, after thinking about how all my American readers will be enjoying Thanksgiving feasts, I have a great penchant for turkey!

Enjoy chapter 25!

 **Babascoop** : Thank you for your review! It's always great to hear from you :). I'm glad you liked the more light-hearted portion of the Divination lesson, and the inclusion of Cedric. Ms Sommers was an addition – not a canon student – and may or may not end of mattering; but Cedric, obviously, does put a bit of a different spin on things. Here, we've only just had the first taste of Arithmancy, but I am hoping that readers will enjoy those classes and the magical theory as we move it forward. Septima has a greater role to play… as do, not unexpectedly, the Slytherin students. The Time-Turner… yes, that seems to be a part of the Potterverse that _everyone_ dislikes, myself included, in large part. I found it a necessary evil to include it here for story purposes, but I don't intend to abuse the power, so to speak. Harry's need of it will expire by end of year, for which I (and I expect most readers) will be grateful for. In the meantime, I shall seek to make something of the situation!

And, Snape. Poor, tortured Severus Snape. I _am_ glad to hear that you enjoy his characterisation and reading his POVs so much – I love to write him! As I think is clear by now, I'm definitely focused in filling in events of the past in addition to moving forward with the present (and consider it necessary to inform the present, really)… so we'll certainly be seeing more of the last war in future. And you're entirely right – this particular scene was important in that it answered several questions, filled some of the timeline and, of course, raised a few more queries for later examination. It's the first time we've really seen the first war from Snape's perspective – apart from his Halloween flashback at the start of this book, and it changes the focus from the Order and Dumbledore to the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters… we do learn that it is the third of the 'Potters defying the Dark Lord' events, and its where Snape recovered the hairs that he later used (in Chapter 3) in a scrying spell to locate Harry on Magnolia Crescent. We got the bit of battle between Dumbledore and Voldemort… and, of course, we see the beginnings of the 'Chosen One' determination begin to take shape… and the subsequent spark of what will, ultimately, lead to Severus's betrayal of the Dark Lord in favour of Lily.

I do hope you enjoy the ride as we continue! And I am in agreement – the Fourth book was, for a very long time, my favourite… and I cannot wait to take readers on the reimagined journey! Perhaps we'll even get there before my own next great adventure arrives…

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thank you for your review! Happy you liked the chapter as a whole. I am not planning to cover Dumbledore and Trelawney's conversation in depth, but perhaps we shall revisit it another time… it certainly would be fun, but it just didn't feel like it fit with this chapter. I'm glad you liked the Arithmancy description… it provides an interesting contrast to Divination, in my opinion. As to whether Harry will accompany Hermione in her exit from Divination… I don't want to spoil it, but I think you will like where that plotline ends up. Finally… the flashbacks. I'm sorry if you're not much of a flashback-fan, but this particular book is definitely going to continue to incorporate a lot of flashback events. The 'Marauder Legacy' portion necessitates it, and there is a lot of information in the past timeline that will inform the present and the future, so it is a huge part of what I intend to do in this book. I do hope you'll enjoy it, even if it's not your favourite portion. We will move forward on the present timeline as well, of course. Enjoy chapter 25!

 **Gundy486** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm really glad you're liking the story so much, and hope you will enjoy the speedy update and the continuation!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for your review! It's great to hear you liked the chapter so much. Yes… Severus' love for Lily and his combination of fear and distaste toward Trelawney's actions is definitely evident in his POV in Chapter 24… and Albus is interesting. In many ways, he is 'trusting' in the sense that he is always keen to give second chances – recognising, from his own experiences, that people can make catastrophic mistakes and yet still find redemption. At the same time, he is very, _very_ unwilling to confide his own secrets and weaknesses, even to those he loves. I think this is a theme that permeates his character throughout both canon and my own stories: he _wants_ to trust in others, but he is the consummate general, and he knows trust is dangerous as much for the person who is confided in as the person giving the confidence. And, because of his own past, he is almost paranoid about it.

I think you are spot on with the 'battle planning' comparison…

Enjoy chapter 25!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thank you for reviewing! Yes, I too think it's hard to write/read/watch Snape pine over Lily. Whether they would have been great together… I don't know. Maybe, if Severus had been a different man at the time, or Lily had lived to see him change and hadn't fallen for James. But in some ways, I think Lily's death was almost needed for Severus to become the man he wanted to be for her, which is the sort of tragic irony of it all. And I do love James, whatever his faults as a younger man. It's interesting to see the juxtaposition of Severus's POVs of Lily (and of James) compared to the marauders' and Albus'. I do wish he'd been able to find happiness. I hope you like Chapter 25!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for your review! Yes… the Grim… we'll see how that all plays out… Enjoy the next instalment!


	26. All Hallows' Eve

**A/N** : Hello again everyone! I don't have too much to say this time, except that I am striving to keep to my goal of reaching Christmas 1993 by Christmas 2016. I hope the fast updates will make readers happy.

This chapter is a bit heavy, and far longer than usual… because we are accompanying Harry and Albus to Godric's Hollow. In fact, it is the longest chapter I have ever written in this series – and likely to remain so. There just didn't seem to be a reasonable place to cut, as I didn't want to do Hallowe'en in two separate chapters. So I hope you enjoy it! Review responses to Chapter 25 readers are at the bottom, per custom.

Please read and review!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 26: All Hallows' Eve**

The weather that heralded the end of October was a perfect manifestation of Severus' mood.

He took to prowling the ramparts late into the night, staring into the thunderous clouds and almost daring the icy rains and howling winds to defeat him. It was foolish, he knew. He only ever gained sopping robes and the occasional need for Pepper-Up from his nightly wanderings, but he could not bring himself to stop them.

He told himself that he was looking out for trouble: the sporadic discoveries of irresponsible couples attempting to sneak away for some stolen privacy or would-be pranksters setting up to bring havoc upon unsuspecting classmates providing a reasonable cover for his ventures. Severus slashed house points and gave lectures and assigned detentions, and he congratulated himself on his excellent ability to sniff out trouble.

He told himself he was keeping an eye out for Sirius Black; watching the grounds for a sign that the murderer had entered them once more – that he might be within striking distance. And he congratulated himself on his foresight, and his admirable diligence where the Ministry were so woefully lacking.

Because he could not admit that he walked the silent corridors and frigid battlements to keep as many floors as possible between himself and his bed.

He would not admit that he knew she'd be waiting, if he ever shut his eyes.

As she always was, when Hallowe'en drew near.

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Harry shook the rain out of his trainers, which were still saturated even an hour after his return to the warm. He'd never get used to the driving misery of October storms, no matter how much he loved Quidditch.

The term was flying by in a whirlwind of lessons, homework, training and meals. Harry could barely find time to sleep, let alone finish everything for his cramped timetable. Between the Time-Turner, the extra elective _and_ Snape's continued instruction in wandless magic, he was feeling overwhelmed constantly. He had no idea how Hermione was handling her coursework at all, with twelve subjects to juggle. Of course, she also didn't have Quidditch on top of the lessons either, so he supposed they were near evenly matched.

The little stream of water pooled on the floor of the boys' dormitory, and Harry felt slightly guilty for the mess he'd created that some unfortunate elf would now have to mop up. Sighing, he heaved himself off the edge of the bed and padded on his freezing bare feet into the loo, retrieving a cloth to wipe up the puddle.

'Oi, coming?' Ron called, sticking his head through the open door and frowning as he spotted Harry knelt on the floor. 'What's up?'

'Water,' Harry grunted, pushing to his feet again. He tossed the sodden rag toward the laundry pile on top of his training robes, and ducked into his trunk to rummage about for some socks before his toes froze off.

'Right,' said Ron, leaning against the door frame. 'Well, you'd better hurry. Hermione's going spare – says she's miles behind. She wants to do that essay for Flitwick tonight. Doesn't think they'll be time over week-end. I tried to talk her round, but she's dead set. So either come and back me up or come anyway, because I haven't got one line written yet and she'll chew me out else.'

'Yeah, alright,' Harry agreed, shoving a fresh pair of shoes on in place of his poor flooded trainers. He ran a hand through his still-damp hair, wishing he had time for a quick shower first. But Ron was tapping his foot. Harry knew he was still in a high temper from earlier that evening, when he and Hermione had got in yet another row over her cat, Crookshanks. Ron was insistent that the animal wanted to eat Scabbers, and Hermione refused to discuss it. He, Harry, had come up to change partly just to get away from the shouting.

'I'm coming, I'm coming,' Harry grumbled. He snatched up his Charms textbook and a fresh roll of parchment, and followed Ron down the winding staircase.

Hermione was seated at one of the work tables in the Common Room already, a pile of textbooks stacked on a corner, the Charms propped open against them and half a foot of neatly-written essay already begun in front of her. Her bushy brown hair looked slightly electrified from strain, and Harry could see darkened smudges under her eyes. Suddenly, he felt rather more put-together than he had five minutes before.

' _There_ you are,' she said in an irritated voice, as Harry and Ron fell into chairs beside her.

'Sorry,' Harry muttered, shifting the books a little so he could fit his own parchment on the table too. 'Had to get out of those training robes.'

Hermione frowned. 'He's working you into the ground,' she opined, scrutinising him. 'You'll be half-dead by the match if Wood keeps this up.'

Harry shrugged. 'We're flying brilliantly though,' he pointed out. 'Great practice today, even with the storm. And it's our last chance for the Cup – I get it.'

'It's _Wood's_ last chance,' Hermione contradicted, dipping her quill rather ferociously in its ink pot. ' _You'll_ get four more years, if you manage not to kill yourself trying to win this one.'

Harry and Ron exchanged an exasperated look over Hermione's head, but Harry – wisely – did not argue back. It wasn't worth it, when Hermione was in one of these tempers.

'So, where'd we leave off?' Ron redirected in a would-be cheerful voice, keeping one arm discretely between Hermione and his fully blank essay.

They spent an hour or so working together on the assignment: something which generally consisted of Hermione dictating important passages from the text or recounting portions of Flitwick's lesson, while Ron and Harry tried to copy her words precisely. Harry was slightly less married to Hermione's interpretation than he might have been in the past, having had a head-start on Charms work this year with Minerva over the summer. He contributed his own bits every once in a while, and mainly tried not to fall asleep and blot his increasingly untidy writing.

The Gryffindor common room was noisier than even the usual Saturday evening. The weather was too tempestuous to accommodate students outdoors, and most of the House was gathered in the warm, circular room instead: chatting with mates, playing at chess or gobstones, laughing shrilly while Fred and George recounted some adventure in stage-whispers by the fire or (in rare cases) working. The flurry of surrounding activity made it even harder for Harry to focus on his essay.

'Harry?' Hermione called. He started, shifting back from his absentminded gaze toward the fire. From the expression on Hermione's face, he was fairly certain it wasn't the first time she'd tried to get his attention.

'What?' he asked, rubbing a hand over his eyes and scooting in a bit closer to their table.

'I said,' she repeated with a little sigh, 'I think that's all we'll need, unless you think we ought to include the counter-charm for the Freezing Spell… but as we only got to that on Friday and he hasn't set the reading on countering it, I thought it might be too much.'

'No, I don't think we need it,' said Harry quickly. 'Let's leave it here.'

'Cheers!' said Ron in relieved agreement. He let his essay furl up with a sigh, massaging his right hand with his left.

Hermione was already sifting through her tottering pile of books. 'Well, I think we ought to start in on Arithmancy then, Harry,' she told him as she searched. 'We're not likely to get much done tomorrow.'

Harry groaned. Arithmancy, as he'd feared from the start, was proving to be his most difficult subject. They'd spent most of September reviewing mathematics concepts, which Harry had found extra challenging after a two-year break from maths lessons. To his delight, Hermione had been right about the pure-blood students' knowledge, and Harry rather enjoyed being on the better-end of the class while some of the Slytherins – including Draco Malfoy – were struggling worse than him. But everyone was on near-equal footing now, and Professor Vector had moved them into applications at the start of the month. They'd been learning to set complex equations to historical trends, which was supposed to help them predict future happenings. Every lesson, she had students practise the method on the board and explain it to the rest of the class, drawing from the assignment she'd set them to do the lesson before. Though Professor Vector was fair, and did not openly ridicule her students the way that Snape so often did, Harry still found the experience highly stressful.

'Hermione, can't it wait?' Ron complained, watching Harry's expression. 'You've got to take a bit of a break, we've been at it most of the day.'

'No, Ron, it can't!' Hermione snapped back. 'We'll be out nearly the whole day tomorrow, and then there's the feast in the evening. When do you propose we finish everything?'

'Ooh, right, Hogsmeade. Excellent!' Ron remembered, his face brightening. Then he looked sideways at Harry. 'I still think its mental they won't let you come, mate,' he said in sympathy, shaking his head. 'We'll bring you loads of sweets back though – as much as we can carry.'

'Thanks,' Harry said with a weak grin.

Hermione glanced around to be sure nobody was paying them any attention, then leaned closer to whisper so that only Harry and Ron could hear. 'Are you still spending the day with the headmaster?'

Harry nodded. 'I think so,' he muttered back. 'He hasn't said otherwise, at least. We'll be back for the feast though.'

Hermione nodded slowly. Her brown eyes were searching his face with a curious amount of feeling that almost made Harry uncomfortable. He could tell that she wanted to say something else, perhaps something reassuring… but he was grateful that Ron spoke first. He wasn't sure how he felt about Godric's Hollow; and he was certain Hermione's question would address his mixed emotions.

'Let's do Divination next then, if we have to keep going,' Ron said, shooting Harry an odd glance as he straightened out of the huddle first. 'I can't help much on Arithmancy, obviously.'

'You don't help much in Divination either,' Hermione said waspishly, but the corners of her mouth were twitching as she sorted through her pile of notes. 'Ridiculous subject. Pass me that star chart, Harry – she's asked about the positioning of Venus in this…'

The three of them worked their way through their assignments for several more hours, until Harry's eyes felt so heavy he wondered if someone hadn't spelled them so. Even Hermione was having to cross out mistakes in her Transfiguration essay as they finally decided to call it a night, long after most of the other students had gone up to bed. They gathered up their piles of materials, and shuffled toward the opposite staircases to the dormitories in near silence – completely spent. Only the thought of his gloriously warm, soft bed kept Harry putting one foot in front of the other as they climbed the long staircase.

When he reached the four-poster, however, there was a note propped against his pillow, addressed in familiar, narrow slanted writing.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I shall meet you in the entrance hall tomorrow morning at 10:30am for our excursion. Though the weather is expected to brighten, please dress warmly as we will be out of doors much of the day._

 _Yours, truly,_

 _Albus_

Harry read the short note three times over, though its contents were far from earth-shattering. He felt an odd thrill of mixed excitement and dread rise within him.

It was real. It was happening.

Tomorrow, he would be visiting his parents' graves for the very first time. Visiting his _home_ for the very first time since he had left it a dozen years ago.

No matter how hard Harry focused on his Occlumency that night, no matter how exhausted he was from Quidditch and lessons and everything else, he suddenly found it nearly impossible to get to sleep.

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The day dawned brighter than the past week – a break in the stormy weather at last. Harry felt jittery as he climbed out of bed, still fighting that odd mixture of emotions that had haunted him through the night. He stuck a hand out one of the Tower windows to judge the temperature. Still chilly, though definitely an improvement on the past few days.

'Mornin,' Ron greeted him sleepily, hauling himself out of bed as well. They were the last two to rise in the dormitory – unsurprising, given how late they'd stayed up working.

Harry heard Ron's stomach grumble before he could even reply. 'Hungry?' he asked with a laugh.

Ron clutched at the front of his faded pyjamas. 'Starving,' he moaned. 'Get a move on, breakfast is probably half picked over by now.'

Harry rolled his eyes as he snatched a towel and fresh robes from his wardrobe.

Twenty minutes later, he and Ron plopped down on the bench next to Hermione in the Great Hall. The room was full of excited chatter, as most of the older students compared their agendas for a day outside the castle. Ron entered almost immediately into a debate with Dean Thomas over the merits of Fizzing Whizbees, and Harry found his gaze drawn toward the high table, where the headmaster was seated in his high-backed chair.

Albus was looking at him. He gave Harry a small smile as their eyes met, and Harry tried to return it.

'Eat something, Harry,' Hermione encouraged him, pushing a platter of scrambled eggs closer to his place.

Harry scooped a bit of the eggs onto his plate obediently, but didn't move to eat them. His stomach was somersaulting worse than it did before a Quidditch match.

'You okay?' Ron asked around a mouthful of sausage, frowning at Harry's untouched food.

Harry shrugged. 'Fine,' he grunted. 'Just not that hungry.'

'You need to eat, Harry,' Hermione insisted gently. 'Go on – just have a bit of –'

'Hermione, I'm not a toddler,' Harry spat at her. Across the table, Dean and Seamus exchanged raised eyebrows. Harry felt instantly a bit ashamed of himself, as Hermione went pink.

'Sorry,' he said in a much calmer voice. 'I didn't mean to snap.'

He forced a forkful of eggs into his mouth as a gesture of goodwill, and Hermione's expression softened.

'It's alright to be nervous,' she told him gently, when Dean and Seamus had gone back to their own conversation. 'I'm sure I would be too.'

Harry shook his head. 'I'm not nervous, exactly,' he confided. 'I'm more… I don't know. I can't decide if I'm glad I made Dumbledore promise to take me, or wishing I'd never even thought of the idea.'

Hermione smiled. 'That's alright too,' she assured him. 'And Harry, if you don't want to go… I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will understand. You should only do it if you're ready.'

'No, I want to go,' Harry said quickly. 'I… I _need_ to go, if that makes any sense at all.'

'All the sense in the world,' Hermione replied with another sad smile. 'We'll see you at the feast, then.'

Harry nodded, as most of their class that was headed to the village began to gather their cloaks. Hermione squeezed his arm gently before she moved to retrieve her own, and Ron clapped him once on the shoulder as Harry walked the two of them toward the entrance hall.

The entryway was crowded and chaotic with all the students queued up to have their names cross-checked by Filch against the list of those with permission to visit Hogsmeade. Harry endured sympathetic comments from many of his classmates who were headed out for the day, and the usual taunts from Malfoy and his Slytherin cronies. He found that none of it really mattered to him today. All he could think about was that he would be meeting Dumbledore in less than an hour.

He waved Ron and Hermione out with the others, and trudged back up to the dormitories to get his own travelling cloak. Following the headmaster's advice, he chose the fur-lined one for their outing. He felt strangely comforted wrapped in its warmth… remembering it had been a gift from Dumbledore and Minerva.

'All set?' Albus greeted him, as Harry alighted from the grand staircase at ten-thirty.

'Yes,' Harry agreed. It irritated him that his voice was higher than usual.

Dumbledore smiled. 'We must walk through the gates,' he informed him. 'And then I can apparate the both of us to the village. I shall use a patronus, of course, so you will not need to feel the Dementors' effects.'

Harry nodded, allowing Dumbledore to lead them from the castle. He didn't say much as they crossed the grounds, but the weight of the headmaster's hand on his shoulder comforted him all the same. The bright silver phoenix glided in front of them as they made their way through the iron gates, keeping the chill at bay.

'Just here will be fine, Harry,' Albus said, when they'd crossed into the street from the grounds. 'Hold tight to my arm now.'

Harry took the headmaster's proffered forearm, gripping tightly. He felt the familiar squeezing sensation as Dumbledore turned them into nothingness, before his feet slammed hard against muddy earth and he felt the headmaster steady him before he could topple over to his knees.

'Thanks,' he said, a little breathless as he straightened up.

They were in a small garden, alongside a very old church. A fountain was playing in front of him, and Harry could hear birds singing softly from the trees. The village was fairly quiet for a Saturday morning. The high hedgerow hid the street from sight, but Harry could hear the occasional rumble of a distant car through the green.

'Do you want to see the house first?' Albus asked kindly, when Harry had got his breath. 'It is a little ways outside the village, but we could come back to see the churchyard and then have tea and a spot of lunch in town.'

'Alright,' Harry agreed. He wasn't quite ready for the graves yet… somehow, he hadn't anticipated that they'd be apparating straight to the church. He wanted some time to get his bearings first.

Dumbledore guided him through a high gate, and onto the village high street. Harry looked around curiously. There were lots of small local shops, and a few pubs and restaurants tucked in between. Some of the villagers were darting between the storefronts, all in Muggle clothing. Harry looked down at his own cloak with mild apprehension.

'Do not worry,' Albus said gently, reading Harry's concern. 'I have charmed both of us. They will not be able to tell.'

'Oh, right,' said Harry. He tried to smile, but he couldn't quite manage it.

'Come,' the headmaster beckoned, leading Harry to the right. 'The cottage is down this way.'

Harry recognised the street from his forays into the memories. It was long and narrow, lined with little cottages all made of a similar red brick.

'The house is still there?' he asked Dumbledore, as they made their way down the street. 'I though Hagrid said it was destroyed?'

'It remains, in part,' Albus confirmed. 'There was significant damage – to the front entrance and the back of the first floor, in the room where Voldemort's final curse was cast.'

Harry frowned. 'And nobody has fixed it since?' he clarified.

'No,' the headmaster said. 'Although damage inflicted by dark magic to physical objects, unlike damage to the human body, can often be fixed, the wizarding community made a decision in the wake of your parents' deaths not to commence repairs on the cottage.'

'Why?' asked Harry curiously.

'They have left it as a sort of monument,' Dumbledore explained. 'A tribute to your parents' sacrifice, and to your own miraculous survival. And also as a reminder of the costs of the last wizarding war. A sentiment that many in our present world would do well to remember, as we allow prejudice and the stirrings of injustice to gain a foothold too often, even after so many years of bloodshed. It is a great tragedy of humanity, that we are as yet determinedly blind to the lessons of history, and thus too often doomed to repeat our mistakes. Of course, you could elect to make repairs on the house when you come of age, should you wish to. The cottage, as I think I may have told you, is in your name now that your parents are gone, and is part of your inheritance.'

Harry was silent. He didn't really know what to say. He was not sure he liked the idea of his parents' home – the happy house that he'd seen in so many of those memories – remaining blown apart for the rest of time. Meanwhile, he sort of understood what Dumbledore was saying; that the cottage could have some value in its current state, for wizarding history, at least.

Dumbledore led them all the way up the street, to the very last house. The gate that Minerva had passed through when she'd come to visit Harry after his birth remained, though rusted a bit with age. The front garden and the little walk were quite overgrown; the wild nature of the surrounding country reclaiming the property in the passing decade. The house, as the headmaster had told him, was half-destroyed. There was a gaping hole in the upstairs rear, where Harry supposed his nursery had been, and the cottage was missing its front door. Ivy grew unchecked over the crumbling bricks. Harry was surprised that – as much as he felt a connection to this house from afar – seeing it now… it just felt sort of empty. Other.

'Place your hand upon the gate,' Albus invited him, nodding toward the rusted wrought iron.

Harry gave him a curious look, but followed the instruction. He set his hand on top of the gate, wrapping his fingers around the iron. As he did so, a little sign upon a post popped up out of the ground. Harry leaned in to read the inscription.

 _On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981,_

 _Lily and James Potter lost their lives._

 _Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard_

 _ever to have survived the Killing Curse._

 _This house, invisible to Muggles, has been_

 _left in its ruined state as a monument to the_

 _Potters and as a reminder of_

 _the violence that tore apart their family._

All around the edges of the little official sign, however, were _other_ messages, scrawled in different coloured ink – clearly by the hands of dozens of visitors. They were all messages of hope, and gratitude, and Harry felt his eyes water as he read them through.

'Do you see?' Dumbledore asked him.

'There's so many,' Harry replied in surprise.

'This house is a famous place, Harry,' the headmaster told him seriously. 'Today, perhaps, more than any other day of the year. In fact, Godric's Hollow is a very popular spot for visitors at Hallowe'en. Witches and wizards come frequently to pay their respects. Your parents' sacrifice, and your own, is not forgotten.'

Harry looked wildly around, half-expecting to see wizards popping up all over the street.

'But… no one else is here today,' he pointed out.

Albus smiled. 'No,' he agreed. 'When you made this request of me, I paid the village a brief visit myself. I set a ward that would give us some privacy for the day. I did not think you needed to share your own first visit with any admirers.'

'Thank you,' said Harry with a small smile. He looked back at the sign and all its messages. 'It's nice, in a way,' he opined. 'I'm glad they wrote these things.'

Dumbledore squeezed his shoulder.

'Can we go in?' Harry asked, nodding toward the ruined house.

The headmaster shook his head. 'I would rather we did not,' he said. 'The cottage has not been entered in over a decade, and I would wager it is far from stable. You could be hurt. And none of your parents' belongings remain in the house, in any case. I had everything removed to their vault at Gringotts shortly after their passing.'

'Oh,' said Harry, slightly disappointed.

They stood for another few minutes, Harry drinking in the little cottage and cementing the image in his mind. It made him sad to see it ruined this way – although he'd known it would be. It was hard to reconcile this desolate place with the happy little home he'd seen in the Pensieve… with his father pushing through the door laden down with Christmas parcels… or his mother digging through kitchen cabinets for potions… There was nothing of life in this cottage now. It was just another ruined building. Another casualty of a war he could not remember.

'Are you ready to go?' Dumbledore asked gently at last.

'Yes,' Harry said, turning his gaze from the house. 'I want to see the churchyard.'

The churchyard was small, and quite old. The crumbling stones dated back so many centuries that some were too weatherworn to discern the dates at all. Harry knew that the village had been a mixed settlement for many years, and as he walked through the rows at Dumbledore's heels he recognised many wizarding names among the markers. It was quiet in the churchyard, and oddly peaceful – not nearly as creepy as Harry had imagined, never having entered one before. The grounds were well-kept and tidy, and Harry could tell by the smattering of wreaths and plants that many of those interred here had frequent visitors. He wondered if anyone, apart from himself, had ever come to pay respects to James and Lily.

'It is just here,' Albus said softly. 'In the next row.'

Harry's heartrate picked up a flutter as he followed Dumbledore's direction. Though he had begged for this trip… though he had felt so deeply that he _needed_ to see… now, standing in this churchyard, he was no longer sure he could do it.

He stopped between two headstones, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. His gaze darted around the graveyard, looking for a way out as his chest tightened…

'Harry?' Albus asked, stopping in his own step a bit ahead of Harry and turning back with a small frown.

Harry brought his eyes up to meet the headmaster's, who seemed to read the plea immediately. He closed the distance between them in three long strides, crouching down slightly so they were on eye-level.

'I – I don't want to,' Harry whispered between his hitched breaths. 'I changed my mind. I can't do it. I –'

'Sshh, child, it's alright,' Albus said quietly. He took both Harry's hands in his much larger ones, holding them firmly. 'Just breathe. Relax. We will not go unless you are ready.'

It took Harry the better part of five minutes to bring himself under control, gasping his way toward calm again. Dumbledore did not speak while Harry mastered himself, but merely remained crouched in front of him, holding tightly to his hands. The iron grip grounded Harry: gave him something to focus on while he tried to stem the sudden onslaught of panicked reservations.

At last, his heart returned to its normal state, and the tightness in his chest seemed to loosen. Harry relaxed his own tight grasp on the headmaster's fingers, and gave a small nod.

'Alright,' Albus said gently, raising himself to vertical once more. He released Harry's hands, but kept close to him as he walked them forward together, toward a large, white marble stone.

The marker was beautiful, in a simple way. It was just a curved headstone – no angel set atop or intricate carvings decorating the surface… but the marble gleamed as brightly as polished silver. His parents' names were carved into it, side by side in death as they had been in life. He read the dates curiously. His mother had been older… by nearly two months. He wondered that he'd never known that before.

' _The Last Enemy that Shall be Destroyed is Death_ ,' Harry read aloud from the inscription beneath.

'Corinthians, 15:26,' the headmaster supplied helpfully. 'Paraphrased, slightly.'

Harry frowned. 'Did you choose it, sir?' he asked.

'I did,' Dumbledore confirmed. 'It is one of my favourite biblical lessons.'

'Why? What does it mean?'

'It is a promise,' Albus explained. 'A promise of eternal life – a grace and goodness beyond this world, where no darkness can claim victory. Your parents lost their earthly lives in the war against darkness, Harry. But that does not mean that they were defeated. If your soul is pure and your heart is true, then evil can never triumph at the close.'

Harry did not quite know what to say to that. It was one of those times where he found the headmaster's enigmatic answers slightly over his head. He shuffled forward instead, wanting to touch the marble. It was cool beneath his fingers. Harry wondered morbidly if his parents were the same temperature, so many feet below. He felt odd.

Should he speak to them, or something? What did one do, visiting a grave?

It felt odd to do so in the headmaster's presence; like he would be acting quite silly, talking to a stone. He knew Dumbledore would never laugh… but he was still a bit embarrassed by the thought.

'I'll give you a moment alone,' Albus said solicitously, though Harry did not know how he'd read his mind without holding his gaze. 'I shall be just over there, when you are ready.' He gestured in a diagonal to Harry's left.

Harry nodded, and Dumbledore squeezed his shoulder once before walking away. When he could no longer hear the headmaster's footsteps, he crouched low to the ground, laying his palm flat against the headstone.

'Hi Mum, Dad,' he muttered, so quietly that he could barely hear himself. 'I'm Harry. Harry Potter, though I suppose you already know that.'

He sighed, wondering again whether he was being an idiot.

'I don't really know how to do this,' he said aloud, as it was the first thing that popped into his mind. 'I don't know whether you can hear me… or if you're listening or what not. I just… I wanted to see you today. Or not really _see_ you, I guess… but see this place. See home. I wanted you to know that I –' he swallowed hard. 'That I think about you a lot. Not just today. I've been seeing you in memories lately… from Albus and Minerva, and Remus and Aberforth. I miss you. But I want… you know, you should know that I'm okay. Most of the time, anyway. And I know what you did for me. And also,' he paused, brushing his sleeve impatiently at his eyes.

'I love you,' he finished in a whisper.

He pushed himself up from his crouch, looking down at the white marble again for a moment. And then, quite suddenly, he knew he wanted to leave.

He made his way between the headstones toward the headmaster, who was crouched low in front of another white marble marker. Dumbledore straightened as Harry reached him, and he realised that Albus had been laying a wreath of white roses against the stone. He glanced curiously at the name.

'Kendra Dumbledore,' he read out softly. 'This… this is your mother?' he asked solemnly. He remembered in a rush that Dumbledore had told him his mother was buried in the village too, and chided himself for failing to think about it before now.

'Yes,' Albus whispered beside him.

But Harry was still looking at the stone. To his surprise, it was a double-marker, just like his parents'. Above the inscription – another biblical one, by the looks of it – a second name and set of dates were inscribed.

'There's… there's another name,' said Harry in confusion. He moved closer to the stone. 'Ariana…' he read. He scanned the listed dates of birth and death, so few between. He turned a grave face to the headmaster.

'My sister,' Dumbledore confirmed. He reached out an aged hand to touch the marble, tracing Ariana's name.

'She was so young,' Harry breathed quietly. He knew he sounded horrified, but he could not help it.

'Yes,' Albus agreed in a whisper. 'She was but fourteen. Hardly older than you.'

'I – I'm sorry,' said Harry softly. 'I didn't know.'

Albus sighed. 'You could not have, child,' he assured him. 'There are very few who do, after so many years. I never speak of her. The memories are…' he swallowed, uncharacteristically lost for words.

'I never speak of her,' he repeated.

Harry was biting his lip. Hesitantly, he took a step forward and slid his much smaller hand into Albus's. He gave a slight squeeze, echoing the headmaster's comfort at his own parents' grave.

'You don't have to, sir,' he said quietly. 'If it's… we don't have to talk about it.'

Albus gave him a small smile. 'Perhaps I should,' he acknowledged. He glanced at the darkening sky for a moment, then sighed.

'But first, I rather think we ought to get in the warm,' he said, sounding a bit more himself. 'Perhaps tea and something to eat in the village? There is a pleasant sort of pub not far from here.'

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Albus led Harry into a cosy sort of pub just across from the church. The place was busy in a steady sort of way, but not overly crowded. A pleasant middle aged woman in a frilly apron seated them at a little table in the back, and Albus ordered tea and two plates of Shepherd's pie for the pair of them. He waited until she'd returned with the pot to turn to the difficult subject.

'I am sure you have questions,' Albus acknowledged at last. He did not really wish to talk about his family. Least of all his sister. But he could tell the awkwardness was preying on Harry's mind, even if the boy was too tactful to broach the subject. Sure enough, Harry gave a slightly guilty jump.

'It is alright,' Albus assured him. 'You may ask. I will answer… unless I have a very good reason not to. You have earned the right to a little reciprocity, I think.'

Harry hesitated, fingering the rim of his tea.

'What… what was she like?' he asked at last. 'Ariana?'

Albus almost winced at the name, but he tried to stem the emotion. He had told the child to ask his questions, after all. So he forced a sad smile.

'She was sweet,' he said honestly. 'Most of the time, she was sweet and very kind. She was my father's favourite, and the only one of the three of us who resembled him. She loved animals. We had cats in the house growing up, and goats. My mother was Muggle-born, and her parents had been goat herders in Wales. She had a penchant for goats' milk. My father brought a goat home for her as a gift the day my brother Aberforth was born, and from then on we always kept a few in a paddock behind the house. Aberforth and Ariana had charge of them together. She loved to play with them. My brother still keeps goats at the Hog's Head. I think out of nostalgia, although I have never asked.'

Albus smiled at the recollection. And he realised, faintly, that he had not spoken so much about his sister in decades.

'Was she younger than you?' Harry ventured. 'Did she go to Hogwarts?'

'Yes,' Albus said heavily. 'And no. She was the youngest, four years my junior. Aberforth was between us, but he was always much closer to Ariana growing up than either of them were with me. Aberforth and I were educated at Hogwarts, as you know… but Ariana was not able to go.'

'Why was…' Harry began, looking puzzled. And then his expression grew sad. 'Oh,' he said in realisation. 'She was a squib?'

Albus shook his head. 'No,' he clarified. 'She was a witch. A most powerful witch, in fact. She showed magic even earlier than myself, from almost her very first hours. But she became… ill, when she was about six years old.'

Harry frowned. 'She was ill?' he repeated. 'But… I don't understand. With something the magical world can't cure? Like what Remus has?'

Albus considered. 'Somewhat,' he allowed. 'Similar in that there was no known cure for her condition, as there is no cure for Remus's disease. Even in the magical world, there are some illnesses that cannot be cured, and some injuries that cannot be undone. Wounds inflicted by dark magic, for example, are often permanent. Your scar is a good illustration. While there are many potions and spells that can treat scarring, there is nothing that will work on your scar because it was inflicted by dark magic of the highest degree. Even I am unable to remove it.'

Harry grimaced, and Albus smiled a little. 'That is not a terrible thing, Harry,' he assured him. 'Scars can have their uses. And sometimes, even the injuries and illnesses we _can_ treat magically we should not.'

Harry frowned again. 'Why?' he insisted innocently. 'Wouldn't you _want_ to fix someone, if you could?'

'Of course,' Albus replied. 'That is not exactly what I meant. But though we _can_ "fix" many minor illnesses and injuries at once, it is not necessarily a good thing. If you are constantly consuming Pepper-Up Potion for every sniffle, for instance, your body does not develop the antibodies required to fight simple infections on its own. Sometimes, it is better to ride out minor illnesses, to allow yourself to build up defences that might become useful should you come down with something more serious. On the other hand, wizards – particularly wizarding children – ' he shot a twinkled-eye glance at Harry pointedly – 'who know that cuts, bruises and broken bones can be mended magically in a trice are far more likely to comport themselves with reckless abandon than their Muggle counterparts, who must spend weeks or months recovering from such injuries.'

'I guess,' said Harry doubtfully. 'But I still don't understand… how can wizarding medicine be so advanced at treating so many things, and then not be able to help at all with others?'

'It depends on the nature of the injury or illness,' Albus explained. 'Healing magic is complex – far too much so for one afternoon's discussion. But injuries sustained by dark magic or inflicted by a dark creature are more difficult – and sometimes impossible – to treat. You have experienced that yourself, recovering from the Dementors. Mundane Muggle illnesses we are very capable of dealing with. Many of our potions will cure a mild illness in seconds, or at the very least completely abate the symptoms. Much depends on timing, of course, as the illness becomes harder to treat the longer a wizard waits to seek the remedy. Potions like Pepper-Up are designed to nip early illness in the bud before it grows too serious. Which is why we are always nagging you to come forward if you are feeling unwell,' he added with another significant look. Harry pinked a bit.

'Very serious Muggle illnesses,' Albus continued, 'Like pneumonia or septic infections, for example, are much more effectively treated with potions and healing than with Muggle medicine. We are also able to use our own magical reserves to counter the illness, and thus we tend to recover much faster than our Muggle counterparts. But where the illness is magical in nature, and attaches to or attacks the magic of its victim, treatment becomes much harder. It can take many years to develop a cure for a magical disease. Sometimes, the remedy is only a treatment, rather than a true cure. Some of our diseases, like Mumblemumps or Dragon Pox, are similar to Muggle afflictions in their course of infection. A wizard can grow very ill – some older wizards even succumb to Dragon Pox, if they contract the disease late in life – and many are highly infectious. There are treatments available, and usually one will not catch the disease a second time once he has recovered from the initial illness. But there is no curative potion which can provide instant recovery, as there is in the case of many mundane diseases. There are other conditions, magical afflictions, which are permanent in nature. Remus suffers from such an affliction… as did Ariana.'

'What…' Harry hesitated, looking a bit frightened. But Albus knew what he was going to ask. He'd known they would get there eventually. And he'd thought very carefully about his answer.

'I will explain it to you,' Albus informed him, saving Harry the question. 'But I would like some information from you in return.'

Harry bit his lip. 'Alright,' he agreed, hesitantly.

They took a short pause in the heavy conversation, as the barmaid returned with their steaming plates of pie. Albus thanked her as she set them down, and refilled each of their mugs with a discrete wave of his palm.

'Tell me, Harry,' he said, once they'd had a chance to taste the delicious luncheon, 'When do you think you first performed accidental magic?'

Harry stared. 'Well… I guess when I was a baby,' he said with a shrug. 'I mean, I don't remember it, obviously, but from those memories you gave me… I must have done by the time I was four or five months, right? Sometime by Christmas, when you came to mind me.'

Albus smiled. 'Perfectly true,' he allowed. 'You performed it quite early. Like Ariana, and myself for that matter, you were hardly in this world _without_ magic in some sense. I suppose I should have asked my question more precisely. I wish to know, when you were at the Dursleys… when is the first time you can recall something unusual happening when you were angry or upset?'

Harry seemed to contemplate the query. 'I was three, I think. Maybe four,' he said at last. 'I remember I was supposed to be fetching the milk and putting it away for Aunt Petunia. The ice box was old then – it had this really high latch. And the milk bottles were heavy. I tried to hold them in one arm while I opened the door… and I had to get up on my tiptoes and pull really hard. The door sort of popped back at me, and I fell. One of the milk bottles flew backward – and I remember thinking it was going to spill everywhere and the glass would break, and Aunt Petunia would be so cross at me that she'd lock me up the rest of the day… but somehow, the bottle sort of _froze_ in the air. Only for a moment.' He smiled a little at the memory. 'Anyway, I sat up again and kind of plucked it from the air. When I stood up, Aunt Petunia was standing in the door, and she was furious.'

Albus's eyes hardened. 'Did she do anything in response?'

Harry swallowed. He looked down at the table as he spoke now, tracing patterns in the wood. 'She… she locked me in my cupboard,' he admitted at last in a whisper. 'That's where I slept, before the letters from Hogwarts started. The cupboard under the stairs. She and Uncle Vernon used to keep me locked in there when I was bad, sometimes for days.'

Albus felt fury consume him, though he had suspected as much from the day he collected the child from Privet Drive… from the moment he'd felt the dark atmosphere in that terrible place; the shadow of cruelty that had occurred there, and the barest hint of what _might_ have happened, had Harry's own perseverance not triumphed where his poor sister's could not. And he remembered the shouting match with Severus, just before Harry spent his week at the Dursleys this past summer…

 _'They kept him in a tiny cupboard under the stairs until the day his first Hogwarts letter arrived. At times, he was locked in there for weeks on end…. They actively sought to stifle his magic – keep him so browbeaten and downcast that it would be snuffed out of him… as if such a thing were possible. His worst punishments were the result of his earliest signs of accidental magic.'_

Albus reached across the table and stayed Harry's fidgeting, laying his fingers over the boy's.

'You should have told us, Harry,' he told him seriously. 'The moment you got to Hogwarts. I would _never_ have permitted that level of cruelty. It was unforgivable.'

Harry kept his eyes down. 'I thought you knew,' he said quietly. His tone was not quite accusatory, but the vulnerability pierced Albus far more effectively than shouting.

'How could I, child?' he asked.

'My letters,' Harry clarified. 'The first one… it was addressed to "Harry Potter, the Cupboard Under the Stairs,"' he explained. 'That was the day they decided to move me into Dudley's second bedroom. I guess they must have thought you knew too, and were scared you might get angry with them.'

The headmaster shook his head sadly. 'All first-year letters are addressed by magic,' he explained. 'There is a registry, which automatically records the names of all British and Irish magical children as they are born. It is enchanted to send letters to witches and wizards of wizarding parentage the year they turn eleven, offering them a place at Hogwarts. The letters themselves are also enchanted, to note when they have reached the eyes of their recipients. If the child does not receive the letter, the registry will send additional correspondence – increasing in frequency and volume until one letter reaches the student. For students who have Muggle parentage, the letters appear in the Deputy Headmistress's office, and she coordinates a visit from one of the professors to the Muggle-born student. Otherwise, we check the registry only at the end of July each year, to ensure that all students have been reached and we have the replies. That is, of course, why I sent Hagrid to speak to you on learning yours had not been read.'

Harry looked up with wide eyes. 'Oh,' he said simply.

Albus smiled sadly. 'Indeed,' he agreed with a nod. 'An unfortunate oversight, in your case. You were raised by Muggles, and yet you are not Muggle-born. Nor were your aunt and uncle ignorant of the magical world. It should have occurred to me earlier… but I never dreamed that Petunia would go so far as to keep your true heritage from you. I have already spoken to you about the reasons behind your need to spend some time – however brief – at your aunt's house in order to ensure your continued protection… but in no way do I mean that to endorse the deplorable way that you have been treated there in the past. And I promise you, Harry, that had I known the extent of their mistreatment, I would have taken steps to remove you from Privet Drive many years ago.'

'I know,' Harry said, diverting his eyes again. 'But they didn't… I mean, I know it wasn't alright, what they did,' he hedged. 'I know that. It wasn't normal. But they didn't usually strike me or anything. They gave me loads of duties, and they would lock me away… sometimes restrict food or something. And they shouted a lot. Uncle Vernon could get handsy but… that was the only time I got really hurt.'

Albus's face was thunderous, and he knew he was not hiding it well. Other patrons in the pub were beginning to rub at their arms – the temperature seemed to have dropped.

'Physical abuse is not the only way to harm a child,' Albus said seriously. 'Harry, I –'

'Why did you ask me about the accidental magic, sir?' Harry interrupted him.

Albus frowned, wanting to press the point… but he could tell that Harry did not have this discussion in him today. So he returned, rather reluctantly, to his original intention.

'Your aunt and uncle,' he said, 'Tried to stop your displays of magic.'

It wasn't a question, but Harry nodded anyway.

'To do such a thing to a magical child is a grievous, heinous crime,' Albus explained. 'Quite as terrible as beating that child. Perhaps worse.'

'Why?'

'Because magic is innate, powerful and entwined with our very identity,' the headmaster said. 'It is as much a part of our basic selves as our hearts or brains – a part of our very genetic makeup. Magic cannot be "removed" from a witch or wizard, and we cannot survive without it. As you know from your studies in wandless magic, it is possible to overtax or even damage the magical core… and doing so causes great physical and mental impairment to the wizard.'

'Right…' said Harry, frowning. 'But how does that connect to the Dursleys? Or stopping accidental magic?'

'I'm getting there,' Albus assured him gently. 'Magic cannot be removed, or suppressed indefinitely. Magic needs an outlet; it craves expression. And trying to force it into dormancy… that causes irreparable damage. Of course, the only one who can truly do this is the witch or wizard themselves. That is why those who aim to force their children – or those in their care – to stifle their own magic commit such a terrible crime.'

'What do you mean?' asked Harry, his frown deepening.

Albus sighed. This conversation was more difficult than he had imagined. 'It was common once, or more so… many years ago. As you know, before wizards went permanently into shadow with the passing of the Statute of Secrecy, we lived alongside Muggle society. Wizards were often persecuted for their magic – particularly children, who were not yet able to control their gifts and far less capable of getting themselves out of difficulty when they were caught. Many magical children were conditioned to hide their magic; to suppress it. Sometimes they were pressured by their parents or the community to do so, other times they were driven to it through their own experiences with intolerant Muggles. The tragedies of their experiences were a driving force behind the global movement to separate the Magical world from the Muggle. And the shroud of secrecy was largely successful in this regard: instances of magical children rejecting their magical cores decreased significantly.

'But it still occurs, on occasion. Even in our modern world. Usually it happens where a child undergoes serious mistreatment – physical or psychological – and associates that abuse with their own magical powers. It typically happens when the child is quite young. A split occurs within the magical core itself, and part of the magic begins to obscure the rest. The magic fights for expression; for release. And another part of the magic obeys the child's desires, working constantly to suppress its other half. The inner turmoil can drive the child to madness… and greatly destabilises their magic. Over time, the affected witch or wizard may lose all control of their powers as the war within their own core intensifies while their magic grows. The results can be devastating. Most who suffer from the condition do not survive it.'

'You….' Harry looked ill at the thought. 'Your sister, Ariana… she had this illness?' he guessed.

'Yes,' said Albus heavily. 'Ariana began to suffer from it when she was six. She never recovered.'

'But... but _how_?' Harry asked in horror. 'You said your parents were magical. Why would they do that to her? Why would she _want_ to suppress her magic?'

'Another pot, dearies?'

Harry jumped at the interruption, and even Albus himself started slightly. The barmaid's smile faltered as she took in their tense expressions. She looked uncertain.

'Yes, that would be lovely,' Albus said in a deliberately easy tone.

She nodded a bit hesitantly, but hurried off for the kitchens with their empty plates. Albus and Harry sat in silence until the barmaid returned, setting a steaming pot of earl grey between them. He thanked her, and waited until she'd bustled off again before answering Harry's query.

'It was not my parents who caused Ariana's illness,' the headmaster explained as he poured them each a fresh cup of tea. 'The events which precipitated its formation happened on the third of August, 1891. It was my tenth birthday, and my mother made teisen mel for tea. It was always my favourite. I had a fondness for sweets even as a boy,' he confided with a twinkle.

But Harry, anticipating the ending to this tale, did not smile.

'We all knew from babyhood that we were magical, of course. And I had – forgive me for the seeming immodesty – prodigious control over my magic, even quite young. I was caught up in my abilities, and I entertained Ariana at the table by changing the colours of the cakes. She was fascinated by it. She loved violet. Everything in violet. That day, she had a violet party dress, and a violet bow in her hair. She refused to eat until I'd made every one of the cakes violet too. She clapped every time. She was only six.

'After tea, my mother sent Ariana into the back garden to play while she tidied the house. My father took Aberforth and me into town for a treat… most of what I know of that afternoon, I learned much later.

'Ariana was picking flowers by the back hedge. They were all white and yellow – little wildflowers, you know. But she wanted them in violet. She tried to change them, as I had changed the cakes. And, somehow, she succeeded, though she was still so young. She picked a bouquet of wildflowers and she changed them one by one… humming while she played.

'We lived in a mixed village, with many Muggle children. The Muggle part of town was not particularly prosperous, and there were sometimes gangs of teenagers that made trouble in the neighbourhood. Three older Muggle boys of twelve or thirteen heard Ariana in the garden that day, humming while she picked the flowers. I suppose they were curious, or perhaps looking for trouble… In any case, they spied on her through the hedgerow. And they saw her change the flowers.

'The boys pushed their way through the hedgerow and tried to force Ariana to show them how to do the magic trick. But of course, she was only a child. She did not really know what she was doing, and she could not explain it – least of all to the Muggle teenagers. When she could not show them how to imitate her trick, they became angry. They tried to stop her doing it instead, and the argument grew violent. Very violent. Ariana was badly injured before my mother realised what was going on.'

'That's… that's horrible,' said Harry, looking green.

'Yes,' Albus agreed seriously. 'The back garden was fairly large, and it took my mother some time to hear the commotion. She scared off the boys and brought Ariana into the house, and called for my father immediately. My sister recovered physically in hours, with healing magic and potions. It was not until months later that we realised… that the extent of the damage to her magic and psyche became manifest. When it did, everything changed. My father was inconsolable. He went after the Muggle boys who had attacked her and took vengeance. He was a good man, but the realisation that he would lose his daughter drove him out of his own mind. He was thrown in Azkaban for his crime, where he died several years later.'

'Why?' asked Harry furiously. 'He was protecting his family… he was getting justice for his daughter. They'd _tortured_ her! And the Ministry punished _him_ , for wanting to make it right?'

'Taking revenge is not making things right, Harry,' said Albus gently. 'No matter how much we may want it, or even deserve it. I understand precisely the terrible rage that consumed my father. I felt no small measure of it myself – that day, and many days since. But taking our revenge will not return to us what has been taken. It only spreads the cycle of destruction and tragedy.'

'But still,' Harry insisted. 'You would think the Ministry would at least have recognised that he couldn't be thinking straight…'

'They did not,' Albus said, 'Because they did not know. My father could not tell them what had happened to Ariana; what she had become, as a result of the attack. The Ministry would have taken her away. Children like Ariana are very difficult to handle – very difficult to control. They do not understand what is happening to them. They are afraid of the magic, and yet it possesses them: always at war with itself within its host. At times of stress or unsettlement, the magic busts out in great force, often without the child's knowledge or consent. It is devastating in its destructive power. And Ariana, who was a powerful witch already, had more terrible power than the average child in her unfortunate position. She could be deadly, and she would have no way to stop it. She presented a great threat to the Statute of Secrecy, and the Ministry would have had her locked away… until the dark power took her permanently. So my father protected her secret, even at the cost of his own life.

'My mother moved house when my father was sent away. You can imagine the scandal that his arrest produced – particularly given the nature of his offence. There were reporters crowding our doorstep daily, trying to interview my mother. Neighbours shunned our family in shock and disapproval. My mother grew worried that the stress would worsen Ariana's condition, which would be dangerous not only to her but to everyone around her. Aberforth and I were still quite young, we were no real help, and my father was gone.

'She took us here – to Godric's Hollow. It is a much smaller hamlet than Mould-on-the-Wold, and we knew nobody in the area. Though the scandal did not entirely leave us, it had been a few months by the time we arrived and wizarding news moves on quickly. My mother hoped the relative quiet of this village and the old magics seeped within it would calm Ariana and protect our family's secret. She did not go out of her way to make acquaintances with the other families in the hamlet, and she was very careful to tell my brother and myself never to speak of Ariana's condition or of what my father had done. My mother dedicated her life to keeping my sister content and safe, and for the most part she was successful. My sister lived far longer than many in her condition have managed. But the strain of controlling her rages and living in the constant shadow of such a terrible secret took its toll on my mother. She died very young, as you saw.'

'That's terrible,' said Harry quietly. 'What happened to Ariana, when your mother passed away?'

'I had just left Hogwarts,' Albus said. 'I returned to the village to care for Ariana, and for Aberforth, who still had three years remaining at school. But Ariana died at the end of the summer. She did not live to reach fifteen. My brother has never recovered from her death… nor has our relationship, I am sorry to say. Quite understandably.'

Albus could tell that Harry wanted to ask the follow up… wanted to know what had happened at the end. But he did not, and Albus was grateful. He could not share that part of the story today. But he wanted Harry to understand _why_ he had told him about Ariana.

'I have confided this story to you for two reasons, Harry,' he explained. 'The first being that I feel, after asking so much of your confidence over the past two years, that you had more than earned some of my own trust in return.' Harry flushed a little and Albus smiled. 'The second,' he continued, 'Is that I wished for you to understand. I am sure you feel I am often telling you that love is the most important and most powerful of all magics; but it is true. Love like your mother and father had for you can do wonderful, incredible things. But so too can vicious hatred and intolerance cause its own terrible destruction. We are – all of us – engaged in the universal struggle to ensure love will triumph over hate. And as in all wars, there are casualties that cause us great heartbreak. Because of evil and darkness, you have grown without your parents to guide you. Because of hatred and intolerance, I have lost a sister. But we must never allow hatred to cloud our judgment or distort our ideals. Do you understand?'

'Yes,' Harry agreed quickly. 'I do, sir.'

Albus reached out a hand, brushing the top of Harry's head affectionately. 'You are an incredible child,' he said fondly. 'You faced cruelty at a very young age, and you were raised in the shadow of people who showed you nothing but neglect. It is…' he trailed off, hesitating. 'It chills me to the very soul, to imagine that you too might have succumbed to their mistreatment; that you could have become what my poor sister had – afraid of your own gifts, creating your own force of self-destruction. That you persevered, Harry; that you were able to rise from the ashes and keep your sense of self… and that you did _not_ give in to darkness in the process; that you are still good and kind and pure of heart… you can have no idea of what a miracle that is.'

Albus paused. 'You asked me once, nearly two years ago now, what I saw when I looked in the Mirror of Erised,' he reminded him. 'I told you I could see myself holding a pair of woollen socks.'

Harry looked embarrassed. 'I shouldn't have asked that,' he said apologetically. 'I didn't really think about it much at the time… I suppose I was too distracted; seeing my family for the first time. But later, I realised it was rather a personal question. I shouldn't have pried.'

'Perhaps,' said Albus lightly, though his twinkling eyes conveyed his forgiveness. 'But I quite understood the sentiment. After all,' he admitted, 'We share very similar desires.'

Harry gave him a small, sad smile. They finished their tea in silence.

Albus knew that there were parts – important parts – that he had deliberately omitted today; portions of the story Harry was not yet ready to know and Albus was not yet ready to tell.

 _The details of the horrible affliction that had consumed his sister like a parasitic growth… how the Obscurus had killed his mother… how frustrated and trapped he'd felt, forced to stay in the house and see to her continued care while the world moved on around him, without him…_

 _How Gellert had entered his life at just that vulnerable moment… the fascination Albus felt for the young, talented wizard with revolutionary ideas… the fascination that_ Gellert _had had with Albus, and with Ariana…_

 _His brother's disgust with the both of them…_

 _How his own foolish ambition had driven them all to duelling that late summer's afternoon, setting Ariana off… how in the ensuing chaos someone had destroyed her utterly…_

 _His own deep, all-consuming fear that it had been he who had done it._

Today was not the day for such revelations. And yet, Albus felt a slight lightening in his chest – as if speaking of his sister had eased some of the burden her passing had left on his soul.

'Harry,' he called quietly, drawing the boy's gaze up from his tea again as they both neared the end of their cups. 'I must also tell you that this information is not widely known. As I said earlier, I do not often speak about Ariana. The memories are quite painful. There are few alive who know the story of her illness or death, and even now it would not be wise for the Ministry to ascertain her condition at the time. Therefore, I must ask you to keep what I have told you in confidence.'

'Of course, sir,' Harry agreed at once. 'I won't tell anyone. I won't even tell Ron and Hermione.'

'Very well,' said Albus with a small smile. He pushed his empty tea cup away, and set a few Muggle notes under the saucer.

'Well, if you are ready then, we should get on. It is already later than I had anticipated.'

Harry stole a glance at his own wristwatch, his eyes widening. 'Half four,' he said in surprise. 'Are we going back to the castle, then? There's a few hours left before the feast, but I suppose the others will be back from Hogsmeade soon.'

Albus could tell the boy was not quite ready for the abrupt transition back to reality.

'No, we are not returning just yet,' the headmaster told him. 'There is one other visit I wished to pay first, if you are willing. I sent word that we would be along around four, so we ought to make haste.'

Harry cocked his head curiously. 'Who?'

'I think, Harry,' said Albus, his eyes twinkling, 'That you would enjoy meeting Bathilda Bagshot.'

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Harry was quiet as the headmaster led him out of the little pub and down the high street of Godric's Hollow, back toward the lane which had taken them to his parents' ruined cottage. His mind was still reeling with Dumbledore's tale and the many new pieces of information this afternoon had brought.

He couldn't decide whether he was grateful to have the knowledge. A part of him was pleased, and a little proud, that the headmaster had felt him trustworthy enough to confide these most personal secrets. He knew the conversation had been difficult for Dumbledore – could see the hesitancy in each sentence; the pain behind the revelations. And that same part felt nothing but empathy for the Dumbledore brothers, who had lost their parents and their sister and – like him – been created orphans far too early in life.

Another part of him was consumed with the horror of it all. That a witch could be so damaged by fear of her own magic… and that the result could damage her Core so completely as to actually prove fatal…

Most of all, it unnerved him to no end that there were things in this world that Albus could _not_ fix. That he did not have answers to. He had known, of course, that many people had died in the previous war with Voldemort despite Dumbledore's leadership. His parents included. But that felt different, somehow. Wars were bloody, and people died. One man could not be everywhere; could not save everyone. But the story of Ariana Dumbledore had been different. She had been ill for eight years – dying for eight years. And she was Albus's _sister_. Surely, if there was anything that could be done for her, the headmaster would have stopped at nothing. Even being as young as he himself was at the time.

The idea of Albus as helpless… powerless to stop the advancement of his sister's condition… _admitting_ that he had no answers…

It was unnatural. It put a crack in the image of the headmaster that Harry had always had in his head; added humanity to the omniscient old maje he'd grown to see as more than a protector, more than a mentor… to love, even, as family.

And that scared Harry. It almost, bizarrely, made him angry. Which in turn made him feel guilty – because why should he be angry with Albus, for being human? For having limits, and flaws, and questions… like everyone else? For showing…

Weakness. Was that why he felt this way, because this was a chink in the headmaster's armour? Because Albus wasn't _supposed_ to have weaknesses, when Harry needed him to have all the answers; to be always in the right – always the strong one?

'It's just up here, on the left,' Albus informed him.

Harry jumped, jolted abruptly from his thoughts. He realised he hadn't been paying any attention to their walk. He felt his cheeks go pink with slight embarrassment.

'Right,' he said, nodding once in response.

Dumbledore paused, considering him with a slight frown.

'Are you alright?' he asked solicitously.

Harry nodded, but Dumbledore's frown grew slightly. His blue eyes pierced Harry's, and Harry pulled his gaze away quickly, not wanting the headmaster's x-ray examination to find his inner distress.

'I apologise,' he said softly. Harry's insides squirmed – maybe he had not been quick enough. 'I should, perhaps, not have given you so much information to consider at once,' Albus continued. 'This day was supposed to be for you, and your parents… but I fear I have cast a shadow over that ambition.'

'No, no Albus,' Harry said hurriedly. He forced himself to swallow his reservations, and force his gaze to meet the headmaster's again. 'I – I'm glad you told me, really,' he said, giving another sad smile. 'And it… it makes me feel a bit more… understood, I guess. To know you had family here too; that you understand what – what this place feels like to me.'

Albus smiled in return, laying a hand on his shoulder.

'Are you ready to meet Bathilda, then?' he asked, shifting into a more cheerful tone again. 'I ought to warn you – she can be a bit – '

But the headmaster's caution was cut off, as the front door to the nearest cottage burst open. Harry nearly jumped back again in surprise, but Albus's hand on his shoulder and the headmaster's slight chuckle calmed his nerves.

A little, stooped witch stood on the threshold, wispy white hair flying about her head in the chilly wind. She was tiny – maybe Harry's height, at most – with skin that was so mottled and thin with age that it almost looked like Aunt Petunia's blotting paper. She was ancient: much older even than the headmaster. Harry supposed he'd known that already, intellectually, but it was still odd to see.

'Albus!' she greeted him in a thin, reedy voice. She crossed her arms, leaning a hip against the doorframe. 'You're much later than I'd expected – I thought you might have forgotten the way.'

'Never, Bathilda,' Albus promised, inclining his head politely. 'We were merely delayed in the village. And I think you know –'

'Harry,' Bathilda interrupted before he could make the introduction properly.

With surprising speed for one so stooped and wrinkled, she tottered down the little brick steps and met them in the path, coming closer to peer at him. Harry was a bit startled as she leaned in to kiss him on one cheek, and felt himself flush.

'Er – hello, ma'am,' he greeted her back awkwardly.

She waved one age-spotted hand. 'Tosh, child,' she chastised. 'Call me Batty. My, but it's been years… you're nearly grown.'

'Not quite,' Dumbledore disagreed with a twinkle.

'I'm sorry,' Harry apologised, still slightly embarrassed. 'I wish I could remember…'

'And how could you?' Bathilda said, brushing aside his apology easily. 'You were only a baby. So sweet, and so much trouble,' she teased, brushing the tip of his nose with a finger. Harry felt his cheeks burn hotter at the familiar contact.

'You're exactly as I imagined,' she continued, looking him up and down in apparent approval, though her hazel eyes were slightly dimmed with cataracts. 'So like James… the spitting image. Except the eyes, of course. You have Lily's eyes.'

'Er, yes,' said Harry awkwardly, when Batty seemed to be waiting for a reply. She smiled at him.

'Well, come in, come in,' she insisted, flapping a hand to gesture them toward the little house. 'I've set some tea to boil, and I made Cauldron Cakes. The family recipe, Albus, so I know you'll like them.'

'My favourite,' the headmaster agreed easily.

He kept a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder as the historian steered them both into the house and led them through to a sitting room. Harry looked around with interest. The cottage was comfortable and quite cosy, like he'd imagine a Muggle grandmother's home would be. The sitting room was slightly old-fashioned, with several sofas in a deep maroon fabric and a multitude of ornate chairs. There were gas lamps and candles burning on every surface – some quite precariously positioned… but Harry supposed Bathilda was used to balancing them properly. The shelves and tables were covered in mounds of books, many with notes and ribbons sticking out the top or shoved between pages. Research, Harry thought, remembering that this woman had authored one of the most important books of their time. The whole room smelled faintly of cinnamon and burnt sugar, making Harry's mouth water in anticipation.

There were photographs too: little people smiling and waving from many different corners. Harry smiled himself as he caught sight of one image on a bookshelf: his parents, seated together on a low garden swing, and himself between them, a happy and giggling baby waving both fists at the photographer. He sidled closer for a better look. Dumbledore too seemed to be interested in the photos on the shelves, while Bathilda had bustled off to retrieve the refreshments, still muttering to herself. He followed Harry toward the arrangement, his eyes searching the images. Harry saw them tighten slightly as he stared at one on the top shelf – a good-looking blonde wizard in old-fashioned, high-necked robes. Albus reached out a hand toward the photograph, and Harry wondered if it wasn't an image of a younger Aberforth, perhaps. He knew it couldn't be the headmaster, as Albus's hair had been an auburn colour in his youth.

Dumbledore looked sideways, catching Harry's curious look. He smiled. For once, however, the expression did not reach his eyes.

'A wonderful image of your family,' he said, nodding toward the photograph Harry had come to admire.

Harry grinned in agreement. 'It is,' he said. 'I haven't seen this one before. I wonder whether –'

'I took it,' Bathilda confirmed, stepping back into the sitting room and levitating a loaded tray before her. 'One of my favourites.'

'Mmm, and speaking of favourites,' Albus said lightly, clapping his hands together in enthusiasm as he preceded Harry back toward the sitting room table.

'Sit here, dearie,' Bathilda said to Harry. She tapped the cushion of the sofa next to herself, and Harry could not very well refuse her. He lowered himself hesitantly into the seat, hoping he did not look rude for his nervousness. Bathilda's constant gaze – though not unkind – was making him slightly uncomfortable.

'Are you liking school?' she asked him as she passed him a cup of tea.

'Yes,' said Harry with a tentative smile. 'It's been wonderful.'

'And what House are you in?' she asked keenly, playing mother to Dumbledore too.

'Gryffindor,' said Harry with a bigger smile. He took a sip of the tea, and lowered it in surprise. 'How did you know?' he asked in amazement, forgetting to be nervous.

'Know what, dearie?' Bathilda asked mildly, stirring a dash of milk into her own cup.

'That I took sugar and lemon?' he clarified.

Bathilda shrugged. 'A quirky talent of mine,' she admitted. 'Although, in your case, not a hard leap. Your mother took sugar and lemon in hers… your father lemon alone, unless there was whisky available. I guessed that you would be closer to Lily's taste. It's all in the eyes, you know.'

She winked one of hers. Harry, not sure if she was joking or not, stared between her and the headmaster. Albus shrugged, eyes twinkling.

Bathilda chuckled.

'So, Gryffindor,' she repeated, drawing Harry back into conversation. 'Not surprising. And I suppose you'll be a Quidditch player too? You've the build for it, and your father was always pressing on that score. I think he'd have had you on a broom from birth if you'd been able to sit up that early.'

'Harry is a Seeker,' Albus confirmed from his armchair. 'One of the best talents we've had in years, in fact. A hobby which gives me endless anxiety, I can assure you.'

' _Are_ you?' Bathilda asked, looking very keen as she offered Harry the plate of Cauldron Cakes. 'Your father would be so proud. He was an excellent Chaser, broke about twenty school records in his time at Hogwarts. He probably could have played for England, if things had been different when he left school.'

Harry smiled more warmly, accepting a cake. 'I saw him play once, in a memory,' he confided. 'He was brilliant. It was Professor McGonagall's – she's very interested in Quidditch too. She's the one who got me onto the House team in the first place, though I was only in first form and wouldn't have been allowed, normally.'

'An indulgence for which I have never quite forgiven her,' Albus put in dramatically.

'Oh, enough from you,' Bathilda scolded. 'You'll never understand Quidditch, Albus. One of your few limitations, I'm afraid.'

Harry laughed in earnest. 'Did you play?' he asked Bathilda interestedly.

'Batty was one of the best,' Albus answered before the witch could reply. 'A beater, in her youth. She spent several seasons with the Holyhead Harpies after Hogwarts.'

'Second-oldest team in the league, and the best,' Bathilda confirmed loyally as she passed the plate of Cauldron Cakes to the headmaster. 'Would have stayed longer, if my dratted hip had held out.'

'Terrible development for Quidditch,' Albus opined with a shake of his head. 'Excellent news for academia, however.'

'Academia wasn't nearly as much fun,' Bathilda admitted with a shrug, choosing a cake for herself.

But Harry was struck with a sudden realisation.

'Wait a moment…' he said, considering Bathilda Bagshot. 'You reviewed _Quidditch Through the Ages_!' he said in surprise, and no small about of respect. 'Your quote's on the back cover.'

'I did,' Bathilda confirmed, smirking as she settled back against the cushions. 'A lucky coincidence, that my years in Magical History research have allowed me more authority to spout my opinions on Quidditch than six years in the professional league would grant. Well worth eighty some odd years of research, I promise you.'

Harry relaxed considerably after that. He found Bathilda Bagshot far easier to converse with than he'd anticipated. She was witty and at times a bit scattered, but largely had her faculties about her for someone so old. Her dynamic with Dumbledore was fascinating, and more than a little amusing. It was odd to think that this woman had known Dumbledore at Harry's own age – that she'd known him at Hogwarts, encountered him before he could do magic outside of school and watched him grow up. He supposed that Bathilda had to have known Ariana too, or known of her at least. But Albus did not broach the subject of his late sister again, and Harry – taking his cue from the headmaster – kept equally silent about it. Instead, they wiled away an hour and a half or so with Bathilda's inquiries about Harry's education and his life at Hogwarts, and Harry's questions about his parents and the time Bathilda had known them. She kept it light-hearted and fun, for which Harry was grateful – he had had quite enough of depressing memories for the day.

At last, Albus pulled a pocket watch from the inside pocket of his robes. He frowned down at it for a moment.

'It is getting rather late,' he said regretfully, stowing the timepiece again. 'I am afraid Harry and I ought to be getting back to the school.'

Bathilda nodded, rising from the sofa. 'You will come again?' she asked, leaning to kiss Harry's cheek again and then bending over to do the same to Albus before he could rise from the chair.

'Of course,' Albus assured her. He stood as she backed out of his way. 'And thank you for having us today, Batty,' he added with a twinkling smile. 'It has been a real pleasure.'

'Thank you,' Harry added as he gathered his own cloak.

'Oh, you're welcome anytime,' Bathilda assured him, smoothing out the shoulders of the cloak for him. 'It was so lovely to have a chance for a chat. Perhaps I shall make it up to the castle one of these days… if my old bones can take it,' she pondered aloud. 'I should like to watch you fly.'

Harry grinned. 'Our first match is next month, but the weather's always dodgy in November,' he informed her. 'You should come to the final, in May. It'll be warmer then… and you might be able to watch us win the Cup!'

'Consider it set,' Bathilda assured him, patting his arm.

As Dumbledore led Harry from the room, Harry's eyes roamed once more to the little set of shelves with the photographs and the happy image of his mother and father – holding him close on the swing.

But he couldn't help noticing, as his eyes found the shelves, that the image of the blonde boy had been turned around: the black velvet backing the only thing he could now see.

And he wondered, curiously, why it was that Albus Dumbledore did not wish to look upon it.

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Hallowe'en. How fitting.

Sirius had hardly slept last night, tossing and turning with nightmares when his eyes finally closed… consumed with rage when they were open. Twelve years… twelve years since the Rat had stolen everything from him. Twelve years that James and Lily had been rotting in the ground, while the Rat lived comfortably in the laps of better wizards, as he always had done.

No longer. No more.

Sirius spent much of the day prowling the edges of the forest, waiting for the opportune moment. He'd have to sneak into the village before nightfall; before the Dementors went on the hunt. But he'd have to be in the village late enough that the shops had been shut up, if he wanted to avoid attention. It would not do to pass the flood of Hogwarts students in town for the day.

He stayed on the edges of the forest nearest the border of the grounds – close enough to see the gate from a distance, but far enough from it that he could not feel the Dementors' presence. He watched throngs of students make their way back into the grounds as the sun drew closer to the horizon, talking and laughing with each other as they went. Just as the sky grew scarlet and he was preparing to make his way down the lane, two more people apparated to the front of the wrought iron gate: Dumbledore, who conjured a patronus almost instantaneously, and Harry, clutching the headmaster's arm. Sirius felt the familiar pang in his chest as he watched Albus lean down, whispering something he could not hear into Harry's ear. The boy gave a nod at the headmaster's words, and stayed close to the old man's side as the latter led them through the gates and out of Sirius's sight toward the school, keeping one ancient hand on Harry's shoulder. He wondered where the pair of them had come from: whether Dumbledore had accompanied Harry into the village, perhaps, to keep the boy safe from _him_ ; or whether they had been somewhere else entirely. Either way, it eased his worry just a fraction to see that Dumbledore had charge of Harry today… that the boy would not be in the Tower, where the Rat lay in wait.

He gave the headmaster and his godson a few minutes to get up the Hogwarts walk before he made a break for it, crossing the lane to the unenchanted wood on the opposite side. He quickened his pace as the path took him opposite the Dementors, trying to skirt their notice without allowing their influence.

It took him maybe half an hour to reach the village, by which point the sun had nearly set entirely. Up at the castle, Sirius knew, the students would be filing toward the Great Hall for the Hallowe'en feast – chatting excitedly and keyed up for the festivities. He wondered if Harry knew the tragedy behind today's gaiety; if the evening felt different for him, as it did for Sirius. Perhaps Dumbledore had taken him from Hogwarts for this reason… perhaps the headmaster, too, could feel the shadows of the dead today.

The high street in Hogsmeade was unusually quiet. Little signs hanging in the shop windows announced they were closed for the night, and even the pubs seemed subdued despite the holiday. Sirius supposed the constant presence of so many Dementors kept many villagers in their own homes during hours of darkness, not willing to make unsavoury acquaintance with the creatures in the street. He could feel their approach himself as he crept through the alleys toward his destination. His hackles began to rise.

At long last, he arrived outside Honeydukes Sweet Shoppe. The shop on the lower level was darkened: closed, like the rest of the street. But candles burned in the flat above, where Sirius could hear a wireless humming and the voices of the married shopkeepers squabbling over the preparation of supper. He was very quiet in his approach, not wanting to draw their attention.

Luckily, it still appeared the latch on the low basement window was faulty. Even with his clumsy paws, Sirius was able to jiggle the window enough to set the little catch swinging loose, and nosed the panes inward. The drop would have been easier in human form, but he could not risk transformation. Not here – with the Dementors drawing ever nearer… with his face plastered in every storefront. So he slid in muzzle first, taking the impact as lightly as he could on his four feet. The window shut with a muffled squeak behind him.

Once on the cement floor, Sirius had no choice but to transform. The passage could not be opened without thumbs, unfortunately. He shifted quickly and re-latched his point of entry before searching the floor for the hidden door, thanking Merlin again that the enchantment on its handle kept it from the notice of the shopkeepers. A glint of bright silver reflected from a cardboard box as he shifted packages aside in his search, and Sirius investigated.

A long carving knife… probably for pumpkins. Perfect.

He took the blade between his teeth. It might come in useful later.

Locating the edges of the passage entrance at last, he prised it open with less difficulty than he would have thought possible, and wondered in some panic whether the lack of the resistance he'd anticipated was because his own muscles were beginning to recover from their long period of atrophy… or because someone _other_ than the four Marauders now knew of the passage's existence.

He slipped into the tunnel, shutting the trap door softly, and paused to contemplate the problem.

He'd chosen the passage over the front entry tonight for two reasons. For one, he was fearful that Dumbledore would have taken extra precautions with the main doors to the castle, particularly after his near-capture over the summer. Though he doubted this would necessarily bar his entry if he was transformed into Padfoot, he knew any delay it may cause increased the chance he might be spotted by latecomers to the feast. For another, he had been fairly confident that the passage remained undiscovered.

 _Was_ it possible that others knew? Did the headmaster?

Remus… Remus was at the castle, of course. He would know about the passage. And he knew about Padfoot – about all of them.

 _Had he told Dumbledore?_

Somehow, Sirius doubted it. Remus had always been ashamed of what he was; always afraid that Dumbledore would withdraw his affection. It didn't feel like Remus, to admit that all four of them had defied the headmaster's trust. And even if he was wrong – even if Remus _had_ told Albus – then, surely, he would have known by now. The posters would have shown him in dog form too; the Ministry would have spread the word. They had not. The secret, apparently, was safe.

Which was a good point, actually. If Remus had told the headmaster of the passages, there would have been signs. Somebody would have put up safeguards, or sealed the Hogsmeade entrance off. Sirius would have noticed.

He tried to shake off the momentary uncertainty, transformed back into Padfoot, and set off down the winding tunnel.

The passage was familiar, even after so many years. On four legs he was far faster than on two, and Sirius found himself at the way out earlier than he'd really anticipated. He stayed hidden in the tunnel for a moment, trying to discern whether anyone was roaming the corridors. Like entering the passage, exiting would require a human form. He calculated that it had to be nearing eight o'clock, which meant the feast would be underway… he would be safest trying to enter the Tower midway through, while everyone was down in the Hall and the staff was all in attendance.

It was difficult to tell through the stone, but he could not hear any commotion on the opposite side. He shifted back and pushed a cautious hand at the back of the hump, grateful that a spell was not needed from inside the passage. The stone slid aside at the pressure, and Sirius poked his head through carefully.

Deserted.

He threw himself through the narrow opening, already shifting as the stone slid automatically shut behind him. He padded up the corridor, feeling his heart rate increase as his destination drew closer.

Three flights.

Two.

He took the turn off the staircase at a run, galloping toward the Fat Lady's portrait. Just a corner away he ducked into an empty classroom, changing back to himself out of sight of the prying eyes of the portrait and shifting his long silver knife to his hand.

'Password?' the Fat Lady asked imperiously, narrowing her eyes as he approached her frame.

'Let me pass,' Sirius growled back.

'No password, no entry,' the Fat Lady insisted, brushing unnecessarily at her long skirts.

Sirius felt the blood pounding at his ears, his vision reddening. He was so close… _so close_ … the red-haired boy would be in the Hall with everyone else. And the rat… the rat would be alone in the Tower. Asleep, probably. Thinking he was safe. Dreaming, perhaps, of how he'd sent his best friends to their deaths this night, twelve years ago. And Sirius was closer than he'd been since that day in Ireland; separated from him by six inches of stone… and one stubborn, arrogant portrait.

'Let me _pass_ ,' he hissed again, brandishing the knife threateningly.

The Fat Lady's eyes followed the gleam of the silver, but she puffed out her chest indignantly. 'No entry without the password,' she insisted. 'I do not care _who_ you are. Access to the dormitories is restricted.'

 _This_ was his night. His revenge. He would not let this woman take it from him. He could not stand it…

'Let me pass, or I shall _make_ you move aside!'

The portrait's eyes narrowed. 'I know who you are,' she warned him. 'You are Sirius Black – the escaped murderer. We've been told about you, you know. The headmaster told all of us months ago. If you think I will let you in, you are quite –'

' _He's_ inside, you wretched woman!' Sirius snarled. His heart was thumping louder than ever, his vision reddening… six inches of stone… and he was to be thwarted by _canvas_?

'Nobody is inside the Tower tonight,' the woman said superiorly. 'Not Harry Potter, nor any other student. They are all at the –'

'He's _here_!' Sirius insisted. He rushed up to the canvas, pressing the point of his knife to a corner. The fabric stretched inward, threatening to rip where he pushed. 'He is inside. He breathes. He _lives_. And if you will not remove yourself from my path, I swear on Merlin's tomb that I shall cut this painting to shreds so thoroughly, they will not find even your wineglass remaining.'

The woman's eyes were steely now. 'No password, no –' she began again, but Sirius had reached his limit.

He slashed the knife through the air, tearing a gaping hole through the canvas. The Fat Lady gave a shriek of terror as she threw herself sideways, attempting to get out of the frame. Sirius still managed to slice off half her dress before she escaped. She tore off down the corridor, sprinting through the line of paintings, clutching at her shortened skirts and sobbing.

Sirius paid her no mind. She did not matter. The _door_ was what he needed. And she couldn't take that with her.

He brought the knife swinging through the canvas over and over again, until the portrait was nothing but torn strips swinging from a gilded frame. The wall behind it, however, remained solid and whole.

' _No_ ,' he hissed, running his hand along the stones. He broke two long fingernails digging at the mortar, but he could not find a crack.

He was _so_ close… but it appeared, without the guardian, the Tower door could not be opened.

Whirling in fury, Sirius stared up and down the corridor for the Fat Lady again. But she was long gone. Probably seeking refuge in some far-flung corner of the castle, or off to find –

The Headmaster.

Albus… damn it, he would be here, and soon. The feast would not last much longer, and there were portraits in every corner of this school. If the Fat Lady told another painting, or one of the ghosts…

He was lost. His _revenge_ was lost.

Cursing himself for his moment of temper, he abandoned his fruitless efforts, and hurried for the stairs again, headed back to the one-eyed witch. He did not dare shift… the portraits might have awoken, with the Fat Lady causing her ruckus. If they spotted him, his disguise would be lost. But halfway down the grand staircase he hesitated.

If someone raised the alarm – and they would, thanks to his tussle with the portrait… Hogsmeade was not safe. Remus might break his silence when he saw that Sirius had entered the castle itself… and either way, the Dementors would be everywhere, swarming. He would be lucky to escape the shop with his life, and he would have to fight his way through their power to reach the shelter of the trees again.

No… he would have to risk the main entry. Would have to cross the grounds. It was the fastest way to the Forest – and the Forest was his only safe harbour.

He changed course, tearing down the flights of the grand staircase. He skittered a bit on the marble tile of the entrance hall, turning the door handle with a hurried yank when at last he reached the castle entrance. Even as he slipped through, bumping the door shut again with his hindquarters as he transformed on the steps, he could hear the thunderous rumble of hundreds of wizards gaining their feet and knew the feast had ended.

Dumbledore would know in moments that Sirius had tried to break in.

And Harry… Harry would be going back to the Tower… where the Rat remained.

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 25**

 **Guest** : Thank you for reviewing! Haha, I _am_ sorry that your emotions took such a roller-coaster this chapter, but I am glad you enjoyed the ride. And I promise not to stop ;).

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thank you for your review! Yes, Snape is certainly a bit quick to forget himself here… but, on the other hand, his secret might have been exposed if he hadn't acted quickly to stop the Boggart's transformation. A bit of a sticky wicket, I suppose. Harry, certainly, agrees in the opinion that Snape's shoving him forward (just after essentially mocking him that he wouldn't be doing the exercise) is totally uncalled for. I leave it up to the reader's interpretation. Hope you enjoy Chapter 26!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for reviewing! Very glad to hear you liked the chapter. And yes, for _certain_ Severus is furious about Remus' lesson. He doesn't seem to enter at auspicious moments when Remus has boggarts loose in the room, now does he? And yes, Severus boggart is Lily's corpse, which is why he is so angry, so white-faced and so quick to throw Harry in front of him and prevent its complete transformation. As to Buckbeak, I make no promises (naturally), but I really felt for Albus in his moment of overwhelm here… not an easy first few days of term at all. Happy to hear you are enjoying the flashback sequences – I hope they help flesh out each of the characters a bit more. They are a part of the 'Marauder Legacy,' so we will certainly see further revelations as our story continues. Enjoy Chapter 26!

 **SpringRoll** : Thank you for your great review! Very happy to hear you are enjoying the story so much thus far. On Sirius, I'm in somewhat of a similar place – I always liked Sirius, but had some mixed feelings about his character (particularly post book five). However, in writing him, I've come to love him immensely… and I shall be devastated should that time come to an end. Glad you liked the berry-induced flashback here, and I do apologise for choosing to cut it off at that particular moment. I actually had the reaction plotted out and nearly included it, but it felt like too much at this time… and there was just something intriguing about ending the dream with a reminder of how Minerva had also been the one to catch Lily and James (two others that were 'hers,' of course, and _also_ in a room that was 'hers'). I'm hopeful they'll come a moment that I can work that in later in the grand scheme of the story, but if not I will post it as a one-shot after the fact. There are a few pieces I've cut that I'll do that with if there isn't a logical place to insert them later. Certainly, we _will_ see more of Sirius and Marley in future. Though hopefully those will not be fever dreams.

Glad you caught the Easter egg on JKR's short! I hoped readers would understand the nod, but of course it's always a bit of a gamble if it's an outside-the-Seven reference. On your question of sighting in Little Hangleton… I was just a bit confused. The Muggle village Sirius raids here, though left unnamed, is meant to be rather close to Hogsmeade, which is near-canon: in the novels, Harry is told in his first Potions lesson of term that Black was sighted by a Muggle 'not far from here' (he is presumably passing through a Muggle village on his way to Hogwarts, as in the novel he breaks out of Azkaban about a month later than he does in this version). Albus's trip to Little Hangleton is something I added entirely, but I found fitted with what I thought Dumbledore was likely to do as part of his Horcrux theory investigation.

Haha, and happy to hear you liked the Severus anger this chapter… most certainly it will rear its head again (poor Harry, contemplating his upcoming 'detention'…). Twisted is, I think, an appropriate word for it – but certainly having the person he considers Lily's murderer so close at hand put's the need to protect her son in a position of further prominence. And on Lily… _so_ many Lily Moments in these past couple of chapters. I feel like perhaps I should give Snape a bit of an emotional break: emotions, after all, are not his milieu. But I can't help it, the opportunities in an instalment so steeped in Marauder-era history are too forthcoming. I'm glad you liked the boggart revelation, and the answer last chapter to the 'How did Snape get Lily's hairs' question that has been looming since the earlier part of this book. That Chapter 24 flashback was one I could not wait to share, but found absolutely draining emotionally to pen. I needed like three days of rest to recover.

Finally, thank you for your well wishes! You are correct, I struggled with morning sickness in the beginning, but that has largely subsided now (thank Merlin). We are debating names at the moment, but we have a few strong contenders. Perhaps I'll put my favourites in the Christmas author's note for some feedback :). I think you're right – Christmas next will be a whole new (and hopefully wonderful) adventure, and I'm quite excited! James even more so… but then, he seems to have had a much easier time adjusting to his new fatherhood-reality than I have on my end! ;) There is a certain magic about the holidays for children that we can never quite keep hold of in adulthood.

Thank you again for reviewing, and I hope you like Chapter 26!

 **Guest** (2nd Guest Reviewer): Thank you for your review! I'm very happy you liked the chapter so much – it's always wonderful to hear from satisfied readers :). The flashbacks (and particularly the relationships within) are always a joy to write, and I feel like it satisfies my own cravings for some romance in the story, without needing to pair up children in unsuitable adolescent relationships, haha. It's also fun to explore dynamics in new pairings… while I love James and Lily, of course, Sirius and Marley have an entirely different sort of journey that's just as interesting to create, at least for me. As to your query on the boggart… it is something I have also been pondering, and it is entirely possible that it may change in future, though whether in this particular book I cannot say. Stay tuned :).

And thank you for your well wishes! Yes, in some ways it does feel as though the time has flown by… we're actually just above three months away now (as I usually write my reviewer responses as they are posted and save them for the next instalment). Twins also tend to come a bit earlier than expected, so it may be even sooner. I've placed my bet on 18 March, but James thinks it will be the fifth. Frightening, but thrilling all the same!

I hope the short time between instalments is satisfactory, and enjoy Chapter 26!

 **Lavinia** : Thank you for the complimentary review! Alas, if I were JKR, my life would certainly be much more exciting! But I'm glad you feel this project is doing her universe justice all the same. Yes, we will definitely see more of Sirius and Marley. I too am sad that we know their story does not have a happy ending… but, as with Lily and James, it is still fun to explore their connection. As to the boggart – I don't think it was far enough along in its transformation for Harry to really make that leap… even Remus doesn't seem to have realised what the boggart was becoming. That said, just because he doesn't realise it now does not mean that he _won't_ in future… On Minnie and Albus, yes, Harry will definitely figure it out. He's already had some notion of what's up between them, but he's sort of not connected all the dots yet. We'll get there! :) Enjoy Chapter 26!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thank you for reviewing! Very happy to hear you liked Chapter 25. The boggart… yes, it was dead Lily. Of course, only Severus really knows that at this point – it all happened far too quickly for anyone else to guess what the boggart was transforming into (well, anyone who doesn't have the knowledge that we, as readers, do)… but of course that is why Snape thrusts Harry into its path – he doesn't want his secret to be outed, particularly to Harry and/or Remus, who would recognise Lily. I'm glad you liked this flashback! Everyone's memories have a different flavour to them… and Sirius and Marley are one we haven't really had together before. We will see more of their backstory in future. I hope you like Chapter 26!


	27. The Willow's Shadow

**A/N:** Another rather lengthy one… much to my own surprise. Again, I probably could have cut this into two chapters, but it felt like one. I hope everyone enjoys it!

Please do read and review! It's wonderful to hear from readers, and it is encouragement to get the next instalment up as quickly as possible!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 27: The Willow's Shadow**

Severus Snape had just seen the last of his House down the staircase toward their dungeon Common Room when it happened.

Little Geoffrey Hooper, one of the Gryffindor second years, came tearing down the grand staircase, nearly falling face first to the marble floor in his haste. Severus glared. This night had been trying enough; between the feast, half his House on a sugar-high from their trip into the village, and his own constant battle with his memories. He wanted nothing more than a stiff drink and an end to the evening… and, perhaps, an answer to where Dumbledore had disappeared to with the Potter boy all day.

'Running is forbidden in the corridors!' he barked at Hooper's retreating back. 'Ten points from – Hooper!' he shouted at the still-sprinting boy, but Hooper did not turn. He threw himself through the doors to the Great Hall without acknowledging the Potions Master, and they clanged shut behind him.

 _How dare he… the insubordinate little brat_.

Severus snarled, making to cross the entrance hall after him. He'd take _fifty_ points for insolence.

But the doors to the Hall burst open again before he could touch the handle, and Albus brushed past toward the staircase, running full out. Hooper was clutching a stitch in his side as he followed at the headmaster's heels.

' – nobody's seen her, don't know where she went,' the Gryffindor gasped out. 'But it's been torn to shreds, sir, there's almost nothing left.'

The headmaster took the steps two at a time, leaving the student trailing woefully. Minerva and Lupin emerged from the Hall moments later and turned to follow, both looking near terrified.

' – should take Harry,' the wolf was saying in desperation to the Gryffindor head as they hurried for the staircase.

'What in Merlin's –' Severus began, but neither of his colleagues paused for explanations. They tore up the stairs nearly as fast as Albus had, Minerva's hair falling out of its rigid bun in her panic.

Severus waited the span of two seconds in indecision. Then with a growl, he rushed after the others toward the lions' den.

Except the lions _weren't_ in the den.

As Severus turned off the landing and into the corridor where the Fat Lady's portrait stood sentry, he was met with the backs of dozens of Gryffindor students, all muttering to each other and standing on tiptoe to see something in the corridor ahead. Minerva and Lupin were pushing their way through the sea of students, as was the headmaster – though Albus had several metres' head start.

' _Move_ ,' he spat at the nearest group, and the students shifted at once so he could pass, looking wary.

Severus reached the front just as Lupin and Minerva did. His dark eyes swept the scene before him with mounting trepidation.

Albus was running one hand along the gilded edge of what _had_ been the Fat Lady's portrait. It was now a tattered ruin – strips of canvas swinging from the frame and bits of sheared paint littering the floor. The Fat Lady herself seemed to have disappeared.

'Albus,' Minerva began in an urgent whisper.

The headmaster turned, his blue eyes glinting with a fury Severus had not seen in months.

'We need to find her,' he said sharply. 'Minerva, please go to Argus at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady.'

'You'll be lucky!' came Peeves' irritating cackle. Severus scowled as the poltergeist bobbed overhead, grinning madly.

'What do you mean, Peeves?' asked Albus in a voice of forced calm. And Severus nearly smirked in vicious satisfaction as the poltergeist deflated visibly, forced to adopt an unctuous tone as close to respect as he was capable. 'Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn't want to be seen. She's a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful… Poor thing.'

'Did she say who did this?'

'Oh yes, Professorhead,' said Peeves, his wicked grin reappearing slightly in apparent relish for the news he was about to impart. 'He got very angry when she wouldn't let him in, you see.' The odious little man flipped over, grinning disrespectfully from between his legs at the lot of them. 'Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black…'

There was sudden chaos, as many of the children screamed and squeaked in terror. Peeves remained upside down, watching the pandemonium with the air of a proud father surveying his son. Albus sent off three loud bangs from the end of his wand, attempting to restore order.

All Severus' thoughts of turning in evaporated as though they had never been.

 _He was Here… in the Castle._

But how had he snuck past the wards? How had he crept unseen through the corridors? How had he managed to get all the way to Gryffindor Tower… to the Boy Who Lived's very doorstep?

 _The Boy…_

Severus whipped around, glaring through the sea of Gryffindor students who had now quieted but remained frozen in horror, watching the professors. He found the shock of untidy black hair in moments. Potter was looking right at him, and their gaze met for the briefest of instants.

'Come with me, at once,' Dumbledore commanded suddenly to the students. The Gryffindors moved to allow the headmaster through, and Severus, Minerva and Lupin followed in his wake. The wolf was white in the face, and he seized Potter by the shoulder as they passed the boy and his sidekicks.

' _No_ ,' Severus spat in an undertone, slapping Lupin's hand away from the boy and pushing the wolf roughly ahead. Several of the students stared.

'Severus,' Lupin whispered back urgently, his eyes pleading.

Severus glared straight back. He did not trust the wolf – had never trusted him. Dumbledore had been foolish to bring him here, to allow him near Potter, to harbour him in the castle…

'Leave him,' he hissed, still pushing Lupin forward toward the headmaster and Minerva. 'If you truly wish him to be safe, he will be far more so in the middle of a group.'

Lupin looked as though he wanted to argue, but they had reached the others.

'Severus, you and Minerva take the back, please,' Albus ordered.

He nodded to Lupin, and they hurried to lead the students out of the corridor, Minerva and Severus watching them past and bringing up the rear. Both kept their wands drawn as the group paraded down the staircase. Severus saw three sliver Patronuses streak off in opposite directions as they reached the entrance hall, and knew Albus had sent word to Filius and Pomona, and probably Hagrid.

'Remus, fetch the rest of the staff at once and direct them to the antechamber off the Hall,' the headmaster commanded as the students filed in. 'Severus, please gather your House and lead them up here as well.'

Severus sent the wolf a deeply mistrustful look, but hastened to follow the direction.

He swept through the corridors with murder in his heart. He was almost prepared to leave his House where they were… after all, even Sirius Black would not be foolish enough to attempt to enter the Slytherin dormitories. And they were wasting valuable time. But Albus had said to bring them, and Severus was not a fool. He strode quickly down the many flights to the dungeons, cursing the distance.

' _Spina rosa_ ,' he muttered at the entrance. The stone passage opened, and Severus hurried through.

Most of the House was gathered in the Common Room, still keyed up from the feast that had ended only minutes before.

'Professor?' the Head Girl, Gemma Farley, asked curiously as the professor stepped into the room and silence fell at once.

Severus was not an uncommon visitor to the Slytherin Common Room. He ducked in regularly during term, at least twice a week… more, when examinations drew near or some measure of discipline was due. He liked to keep an eye out, and the Slytherins always required a strong hand at the helm. But his presence on a Sunday evening after the Hallowe'en feast was rather unusual, and he supposed something of his fury must have been visible in his eyes and the set of his jaw.

He was close to Gemma. She was an excellent student – a half-blood, like himself, with a particular talent in Transfiguration. She was clever and witty, with a strong moral compass and a keen sense of decorum. He had advocated very hard for her selection as Head Girl, and acted as an advisor for her as she determined her plans for after Hogwarts. But even she looked apprehensive as she studied him.

'Everyone is to change into their pyjamas immediately, and return to this room within three minutes,' Severus said curtly to the gathered students. 'Wear footwear, as you will be going back to the Great Hall. Ms Farley, Mr Flint,' he added, seeking out the Quidditch captain from the group of older boys gathered in a corner, 'You will ensure that no student is left in the dormitories.'

'But –' Blaise Zabini began, looking puzzled. Severus cut him off with a glare.

'Now,' he said in a dangerous tone.

Nobody else dared to speak. The students who had not yet changed scrambled quickly after Gemma and Marcus, and there was a general flurry of activity as everyone hurried to follow his instruction. A few minutes later, the House was changed and gathered, several sleepy-eyed first years having joined them from their beds.

'Follow me,' Severus commanded when the dormitory doors had shut behind the seventh years at last.

His House was dutifully silent as he led them out of the dungeons, wand held aloft and eyes and magic scanning for any sign of trouble. The Hufflepuffs met them in the entrance hall, and thunderous footfalls from above told him Filius was parading his own House down the staircase. He and Pomona filed their students in to join the Gryffindors, and Severus sought out the headmaster at once.

'Where?' he demanded in a harsh whisper, mindful of the hundreds of gossiping students.

'We do not know,' Albus said seriously. 'The Fat Lady was last seen on the Fourth floor, quite hysterical, by Peeves, but the ghosts tell me she is no longer there. I have already sent Argus to being the search for her; the rest of us will need to start the hunt for Black.'

Severus ground his teeth as he and the other Heads of House assisted the headmaster in quieting the children, and waited for Dumbledore to instruct the Head Boy and Girl in their duties while the professors led the search. At last, the headmaster swept for the antechamber off the Hall. Severus, Minerva, Pomona and Filius followed.

The rest of the staff had already gathered in the little room; all except for Hagrid, who was presumably still in the grounds, and Trelawney, who Severus doubted had been asked.

'I have sealed the castle entrance for the moment,' Albus said gravely when the door had shut behind the Charms Master. 'Hagrid will conduct a search of the grounds, but if Black remains in the castle he should be unable to leave the building. As we cannot know the timing of his attack until and unless we are able to locate the Fat Lady, we cannot know whether he has yet had time or inclination to escape the castle. Please divide yourselves into pairs, and each pair take a floor. Filius, you ought to oversee the seventh floor and above – through the towers on the north side of the castle. Report to the entrance hall when they have been thoroughly checked. Pomona, if you would oversee the first through sixth floors and the classrooms. Minerva –'

'We are not leaving the students unattended, Albus,' she said, her green eyes glinting. 'What if Black comes to the Hall? Percy Weasley and Ms Farley are not in a position to –'

'No,' Albus agreed before she could get going. 'I was going to suggest that you remain in the entrance hall, keeping watch over the entrance to the school and the doors to the Great Hall. The others can bring their reports to you.'

She nodded and he turned to Severus. 'Severus, please see to the dungeons and the Hospital Wing,' he instructed. 'And then find Mr Filch, if you would. Though I highly doubt Black would have been able to circumvent the enchantment, I myself will investigate Gryffindor Tower as well as my own chambers and the remaining towers. We shall all meet back in the Great Hall when the search is complete. Send word to me immediately should you discover anything.'

He nodded, and everyone hurried from the room at once.

Severus prowled through the dungeons in high temper, willing Black to be hiding around every corner. He knew it was a fruitless exercise; and he knew Dumbledore was aware of the fact. Black was an arrogant, reckless, slimy excuse for a wizard… but he was not an idiot. He had been a spy, after all; serving a false master and a true, without the former any the wiser.

 _Like you…_ a small, nasty voice reminded him.

Like Severus. The notion made bile rise in his throat, but he could not push it away.

Sirius Black had betrayed Albus Dumbledore; had hidden his allegiance from one of the two greatest Legilimens in the world. _How?_ Because Dumbledore was too trusting? Had Black simply played on the headmaster's good nature… banked on the fact that nobody would suspect him, as loyal and attached to James Potter as he always had been?

Perhaps. Or, perhaps, Sirius Black was an accomplished Occlumens; able to hide the thoughts that would have given away his secret. He was a pure-blood, after all, raised in the Black household, however much he had shunned their legacy in his youth. They would have respected the old ways; the old Magics… especially the ones with theoretically dark connotations. They might have taught him, as a child. Bellatrix and Narcissa had been taught, after all… and they too were Blacks by birth. And Regulus… he'd known some Occlumency too, now Severus thought about it. And he'd been Sirius Black's brother…

Severus had learned to shield his mind out of necessity. The Blacks… perhaps they had learned it by birth right. Occlumency didn't seem to fit, somehow, with the boisterous, arrogant man that Severus remembered… But Sirius Black _had_ been a spy… and got away with it. For years. And he hadn't been peripheral, in the shadows of the Order. He'd been at Dumbledore's feet: in the headmaster's own confidence.

Which is why Severus knew, with certainty, that Black would not be in the castle any longer tonight. Because Severus _knew_ spies. And he knew Dumbledore.

 _And so does Black_ , the nasty voice piped up again.

He would not have slashed the Fat Lady's portrait to pieces and expected to linger unseen in the corridors for long… These were the actions of anger; of frustration and failure. Spies did not operate in the crowd. They did not charge their way through to their intended victim. They did not draw attention, if they wished to remain in the shadows. Black had been brazen in that Ulster street, of course… but that had been different. That was when he'd been out of his mind with the suddenness of his change in position. He doubted even Black would risk such foolhardy actions now.

He would have planned it. It wasn't a mistake, as some of his colleagues had muttered. It was no lucky coincidence that Black had chosen tonight, when no students would be in their Common Rooms.

Black would have chosen this evening carefully. He would have hoped to sneak in, unsuspected, and hidden away in the Tower while the feast concluded below. He would have lain in wait for Potter – the snake in the grass… ready to strike when the boy thought himself safe in his bed. He would have killed him quietly, and stolen away again. Unseen. A shadow in the night. Slithering back to his master.

 _No_ , he disagreed with himself. Black was nothing like Severus.

For one, Black had been caught.

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'Shall I go right and you left?' Remus invited Charity Burbage as they turned off at the fifth floor corridor.

She considered him with a frown. 'Are you quite well?' she asked kindly.

Remus forced a grim smile. 'Oh yes,' he assured her. 'The moon, you know… I'm always a bit peaky this close to the cycle.'

Charity smiled in understanding, but laid a hand on his arm before Remus could turn for his duties. 'He'll be alright, you know,' she promised. 'Harry,' she clarified, at Remus's furrowed brow. 'I can see you worry for him, and I don't blame you,' she said quickly. 'But we won't let anything happen to him. The headmaster, Minerva, the staff… we're all focused on keeping the school safe for _all_ students.'

'Yes,' Remus agreed. He gave a heavy sigh. 'And yet, Sirius Black has still managed to gain entry tonight. And it was… it could have been so much closer,' he added bitterly. 'Sheer luck – the one night all the students were out of the dormitory. If it had been any other…'

'But it was not,' she reminded him. Her hand clenched slightly on his arm. 'He's with the others, and he's safe,' she said firmly. 'And if Black remains in the castle, we'll find him. Everything will be alright.'

Remus returned her smile vaguely, though he knew they were empty promises. The type you told children in the night, when they awoke screaming about monsters beneath their beds. You dried their tears and promised there was nothing to dread in darkness… though you knew that wasn't always true. You swore that monsters were not real; were not out to get them… because you wanted to see them happy and free from fear. Because children should not know of evil. They should be sheltered.

They should be protected.

'We'll meet back here in ten minutes, then,' Remus said with a nod. And he turned away down the corridor.

Charity had been right, in part, about what preyed on his mind tonight. His terror for Harry was paramount. And he hadn't been lying about his impending transformation either…

But what drove him now, what fed on his very soul, was guilt. He was racked with it. Guilt, and apprehension. And fear.

 _Was it his fault, that Sirius had been in the castle tonight?_

Remus had kept his silence. He'd kept their secret. So many years… so many opportunities to tell. One sentence; three seconds. And the headmaster would know everything.

And yet… he hadn't done it.

 _Why?_

He couldn't come up with a decent answer, even to himself.

At school, it had been obvious. They'd been children – carefree (mostly), innocent (rather) and carried away with their own brilliance. It had seemed a laugh, roaming the grounds together. Particularly for the others. But Remus… even in the joy of the adventure, there had always been the shadow of doubt. Of guilt. Of looming rejection.

That the others had become animagi – for him – was a gift Remus could never repay even if he spent a lifetime trying. He'd always been lucky to have them: to have friends at all. Just as he had been lucky to attend school. He'd thought they would run, when they learned the truth. He never imagined they would accept him; embrace him, really, for the monster he was. But they had – all three.

His transformations had been a monthly trial. They were painful, of course. Terribly so. He'd bitten and scratched a hundred wounds into himself – cursed wounds that would never properly heal. He'd torn the little shack to shreds, howling his misery into the night. He'd spent days in hospital, sleeping off the illness and letting Madam Pomfrey do her best to treat his many injuries. Each monthly trip below that accursed tree had left him with its own set of unique horrors.

But the worst part, always, had been the loneliness. Even without his mind; even transformed… the loneliness and isolation had never left him.

And then James, Sirius and Peter had learned the truth. And they'd changed too. And, suddenly, the bitter nights were no longer spent chewing himself to pieces in a ruined shack, but creating memories: forming a friendship that, he'd thought, would be the most lasting constant in his life. He'd never have a wife, or children… never form a family of his own. He'd made peace with that before he'd even come to Hogwarts. But with James, with Sirius, with Peter – he'd had the next best thing. They'd kept him alive, and kept him sane.

So he'd put aside his reservations. Hidden his uneasiness and his guilt. And he allowed himself to live in the moment: relax the careful guards he'd built up, the protections he'd needed. He told himself they were teenagers – and they _should_ have a bit of fun.

Of course, they hadn't stayed teenagers forever. But by then, the secret had become a point of pride. Something that was just their own and theirs to control, in a world that felt increasingly beyond their ability to do so.

And Remus had kept his silence.

Because he didn't want Dumbledore to know… did not want to admit that he'd betrayed the headmaster's trust; that he'd forgone the precautions that had allowed him to come to the castle in the first place, that he'd led three others down the dangerous path, merely by his own existence.

And now…

Now James was dead. Now Peter was dead. And Sirius… Sirius had killed them both.

And Sirius was hunting Harry.

And still, Remus kept the secret.

He'd allowed Dumbledore to give him employment, and a constant supply of Wolfsbane. He'd taken advantage of the headmaster's kindness – his love – as an adult, just as he had lived by it in his childhood. He'd watched as Sirius escaped prison… flown up the castle steps in terror when he'd heard Harry had come face to face with him in the castle grounds… watched the staff set precautions and detailed protections… seen Sirius's face plastered across wizarding Britain…

And still, he'd kept his silence.

And was Harry to be the next casualty? Would his blood be on Remus's hands – the price for his cowardice?

As he checked the still and empty corridors, Remus turned the conundrum over and over in his head.

If he told Dumbledore…

The headmaster would know he'd lied, for decades. He would know Remus had betrayed his trust. He would know Remus had allowed the others to break the law; to break school rules; to put themselves and the entire community at risk. He would know Remus was, truly, a monster. He would _never_ forgive him. _Should_ never forgive him, if it was this ability which was allowing Sirius access to the school, to Harry. Any affection the old man had for Remus… it would vanish in an instant.

And Remus did not think he could bear to watch that happen.

But if he put Harry at risk… his best friend's child: James' living legacy, and Lily's… the boy he'd come to care for as if he were Remus's own family…

He could not do it. He would not do it. He'd have to tell Dumbledore.

But…

Dumbledore had warded the castle, hadn't he? He'd set up wards to keep Sirius out. No animagus transfiguration would be able to counter that, surely.

And the ward was on the castle herself; not just the front entry. Even the passageways into the building would fall within its sphere. Whether Sirius was transforming when he came or not.

Which meant Sirius _had_ to be using dark magic – magic he'd learned from Voldemort himself. Nothing else would stand a chance, against Dumbledore's prowess.

It couldn't be Remus's fault.

And Harry…

Remus felt a rush of anger and fear, picturing the boy's ashen face in the corridor that night. Knowing that Black had broken in for _him_ … and yet _not_ knowing so much.

Not knowing that Sirius had betrayed his parents, though he'd looked only hours before upon their very graves.

Not knowing that Sirius had willing given Harry's own life up, after naming him… holding him… standing as his godfather… loving him, or so they'd all thought.

And not knowing just how much of a monster Remus Lupin really was.

Perhaps it was a good thing, that Severus had pushed him so harshly; broken his grip on the child. The things Remus loved, after all, just seemed to get ripped away eventually. Destroyed. Perhaps his presence would hurt Harry much more, in the long run, than leaving well enough alone.

After all, alone was a place Remus had resigned himself to long ago.

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Severus swept back into the Great Hall at quarter past three, still fighting murderous rage. He'd known it would be a wasted endeavour… but that did not alleviate his frustration.

The headmaster was speaking with Percy Weasley in a corner of the Hall. He made for them at once.

'You've had the reports back from the others?' he asked sharply. The headmaster nodded.

'Nothing,' he confirmed. 'The Fat Lady was discovered on the second floor, but no sign of our intruder. I take it you have finished your own investigation?'

Severus gave a jerked nod. 'Every corner of the dungeons has been searched, and the hospital wing. Filius reports no sign of Black in the Owlery or the North Tower. I do not believe any of the staff remain searching.'

Dumbledore sighed. 'Not unexpected,' he admitted wearily. 'I hardly thought he would linger.'

Severus glanced once at Percy Weasley, who was watching their conversation intently. He wished dearly that he could force the boy away; but he hardly dared do so if the headmaster had not.

'You do not know how Black got in?' he asked in a rough whisper, staring intently at Dumbledore. He would have preferred to send the message mentally… but the dim lighting of the Great Hall was hardly enough to make out the garish purple sleeping bags, and Dumbledore was too busy sweeping his gaze over his charges to focus on Snape's eyes.

'I have several theories, Severus,' Albus assured him. 'None of them at all definite.'

Severus scowled. 'I would remind you, headmaster,' he said in a clipped voice. 'That there are certain _persons_ in this school who have knowledge of Black… if you would remember our conversation at the start of term –'

'I very rarely forget a thing, Severus,' Albus cut in. He was looking at him now, and Severus could read the warning in both his tone and his gaze. He ground his teeth, undeterred.

'Then,' he continued stubbornly, 'You must agree that it seems impossible Black could have entered this castle without assistance from someone.' He glanced sideways at Percy Weasley again, who was listening raptly. From the corner of his eye, he thought he also caught a slight movement from one of the nearer sleeping bags; a tuft of untidy hair barely visible above the fabric. His gaze narrowed, but he continued nonetheless. 'I must reiterate my concern that you continue to employ –'

'There is nobody within this castle, Severus,' Albus cut across him firmly, 'That I would not trust to remain loyal, and true. I do not believe any of our students or staff have helped Black enter tonight.'

Severus continued to sneer his disbelief, but the finality in Dumbledore's tone was clear. Weasley's eyes darted between them in confusion. Albus pulled a pocket watch from the inside of his robes.

'I must go and inform the Dementors,' he said heavily.

'They didn't want to help?' asked Weasley in surprise.

Severus could see the fury sweep over Albus's expression. Weasley shivered slightly, unprepared for the change in the atmosphere.

'Of course they wished to do so,' said the headmaster darkly. 'But so long as this castle is within my watch, no Dementor shall ever be permitted to cross her threshold.'

He made for the doors without another word, leaving a slightly chagrined-looking Weasley to stare after him. Severus watched the old man go as well, still fuming at his own dismissal.

He was _right_ , he had to be. The wolf was the common thread – the _only_ common thread, in this whole equation. They'd always been in on the joke together… Black, Potter, the wolf, that little toe rag…

Sure, Lupin had acted the innocent. He'd been the devoted teacher, the patient mentor, the confidant for the Potter brat all summer long… biding his time, if Severus was right. Bringing the brat closer… under his thumb… gaining his trust. Holding out for Black – to let him carry out the final deed. He'd been conveniently absent the night Potter ran off and Black escaped: it had aligned so well with a full moon. He'd been conveniently away from the castle, too, when Black had entered the grounds this summer and nearly killed Potter in the Forest.

It was _impossible_ that Black could have worked out an entry to this school without inside help. Impossible. The doors had been warded by Dumbledore himself.

And yet, like all those years ago when the headmaster had refused to see Black for what he was… he remained deliberately obstinate where the wolf was concerned too.

Protecting his precious Gryffindor to the end.

The _wrong_ Gryffindor.

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'You are aware, Alastor, that an owl would have done just as well?' the headmaster greeted his visitor lightly, closing the door to his office as he watched Mad-Eye Moody step out of the shadows.

He'd cancelled all lessons before midday this Monday morning, after the children had had such a disturbed night of rest. Most of the castle was still yet to emerge from their dormitories, which they'd been permitted to return to for a lie-in after an early school-wide breakfast in the Great Hall. But Albus had been up before seven, and up for good, as was his custom. In his advanced age, he seemed to need far less sleep than he had as a young man. Which was all the better, when one returned from one's morning walk to find he had unexpected early morning visits from old acquaintances.

Still, Albus welcomed the fleeting distraction after a night spent in such high tension.

Alastor snorted. 'Don't trust owls,' he muttered. 'Can't ever be too careful, Albus, you know that.' He fixed Albus with his dark eye. The magical blue one, meanwhile, whizzed about the circular study suspiciously.

'Indeed,' Albus agreed. 'But still, I feel rather guilty, dragging you up from your retirement in all this stormy weather.'

Moody shrugged. 'Weather's not much mind to me,' he said dispassionately. 'I'm used to worse.'

The ex-auror clunked his way over toward Albus's desk, throwing himself heavily in the chair opposite. Albus shook his head slightly, but followed in Alastor's wake. He seated himself in his own high-backed chair behind the desk. In deference to both the nature of the topic they were to discuss and Alastor's paranoia, he shot a quiet spell at the door.

'Minerva let you in, I gather?' he guessed with a twinkle.

Moody gave a grunt of agreement. 'Passed her coming out,' he admitted. 'You ought to have a bit of discretion.'

Albus's twinkle of amusement grew, but he did not comment. 'Were you able to discover the information?' he asked instead.

Alastor grunted again, shifting himself to reach inside a pocket of his long travelling cloak. He pulled out a heavy-looking file, tossing it on the wood between them.

Albus considered it with a frown. 'You took their file?' he asked, disquieted.

Alastor gave a dark chuckle. 'They'd have deserved it,' he opined. 'Show them their continual lack of security….'

'Alastor…'

'Of course I didn't, Albus,' Moody finished gruffly. 'Had a contact of mine make a copy.'

Albus's frown deepened. 'It would not do for anyone to discover I had requested it…' he began in concern, but Alastor shook his head.

'Don't have to worry about that,' he assured the headmaster. 'Kid owed me a favour. She's been a special favourite of mine… trained her up myself. She'd never betray me; and I doubt she'll have realised the request stems from you. Hardly the first time I've asked for information since they forced my resignation.'

'Very well,' Albus relented with a small sigh. He fingered the cover of the file. 'Did you read it?' he asked the ex-auror. He thought he already knew the answer, and the smirk that Alastor gave in reply confirmed his suspicions.

'Naturally,' Moody answered, unrepentant. 'A Ministry file you didn't want to retrieve yourself? I was more than curious what it might contain.'

'Of course you were,' Albus said, smiling slightly himself. 'And what did you discover?' he asked, picking up the folder.

Moody shrugged. 'Fairly routine,' he admitted. 'Straight forward investigation. Ministry got report of magic in vicinity of a Muggle 19 July 1943. Didn't know the spell, of course – this was well before that enchantment had been added to protocol on magic detection. Sent out two people from the Mis-Use of Magic squad and two from Magical Law Enforcement. Three Muggles discovered in their living room, bit after twenty-three hours, all dead from the Killing Curse. Wasn't much that could be done at the house, so they left them for the Muggle polis to deal with and went for the wizard who'd cast the curses.'

'How did they determine who had been at fault?' asked Albus curiously. 'I do not believe the _Prophet_ was specific on that score.'

Moody nodded his head at the file. 'All in there,' he said gruffly. 'What the lazy sods at the Ministry considered worth noting, at least. Which wasn't much. Wizard name of Morfin Gaunt. Seems he'd cursed the youngest Muggle before. He and his father both did time in Azkaban after that incident. Father was long dead by this night, and his sister wasn't in the house any longer either, apparently, so he was the only one with magical blood in the area. Made sense to check him out – what with that and his history.'

'Sister?' asked Albus sharply, looking up from where he had opened the file. 'A witch?'

Alastor shrugged. 'Looks like it,' he said in an offhand voice. 'She doesn't factor in much – just a note from the previous infraction that the old man Gaunt had a daughter. Doesn't give her name. I take it you've checked your own records on the family?'

Albus nodded, pensive. 'I looked up the family, to the extent I could,' he confided. 'There is not much to be found… there were Gaunts educated at Hogwarts years ago, but none since the 1740s. There is mention of the family residing near Little Hangleton in several of the pure-blood Wizarding Genealogy tomes, but Marvolo Gaunt is the last listed in anything I was able to locate. His children were not mentioned in _The Sacred Twenty-Eight_.'

He did not mention the connection to the Slytherin line. Nor the perhaps more curious connection to the Peverells.

'Aye, that'd be the father,' Alastor informed him. 'Dead by the time the son murdered the Muggles. Not sure what happened to the girl. The place was a shit hole, by the looks of the report. Suppose she might have up and left when the father and the brother were in Azkaban.'

He shifted a little in his seat, freeing his hipflask. Albus, used to this odd habit, was not bothered… until he caught a whiff of the contents as Moody unscrewed the cap.

'Alastor, it is hardly nine o'clock in the morning,' Albus pointed out, as the ex-auror drank deeply from the flask.

Moody winked his normal eye. 'Aye,' he agreed. 'And I'm in retirement, Dumbledore. A nip seems well earned.'

Albus pursed his lips, but chose not to comment. 'What did the Ministry do to Morfin Gaunt?' he asked in the alternative.

Moody shrugged. 'Didn't have to do much,' he admitted. 'Seems when they got there, Gaunt gave a full confession. They use _priori incantatem_ on his wand, and it'd definitely been used to cast the curses. He was sent to Azkaban later that week.'

Albus sighed. 'And I suppose he perished there,' he said sadly.

Alastor gave him a hard look. 'Not yet,' he spat. 'Surprising, that he's managed to last this long. But he'll rot in his cell. _Three_ Muggles dead, Albus? We don't let murderers go free. Well, we're not supposed to… though, apparently, Fudge's forgotten that, or he wouldn't have had me –'

'True,' Albus interrupted. 'If in fact they have committed murder.'

Moody frowned. 'You think Gaunt's innocent?' he asked derisively. 'Even given the incompetence of the Ministry, seems fairly open and shut to me.'

'Perhaps,' said Albus, noncommittally.

He fingered the file, deep in thought.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next week was a highly unpleasant one for Harry. Though Sirius Black had not managed to harm him – or harm anyone, really, except the Fat Lady – most of the school was in a state of high panic, and none of the staff would let him alone. Harry found himself watched at nearly every turn outside his regular lessons – not only by the many professors, but also by Percy Weasley, who Harry supposed had heard the story from his parents.

The problem was, nobody wanted to hear his complaints about any of it.

'You _know_ why, Harry,' Minerva told him in exasperation, when Harry stopped to grumble after his Tuesday Transfiguration lesson. 'We aren't taking any chances. The headmaster is still unable to determine how Black got in on Sunday evening, and that means we are unable to guarantee he won't do it again. Until such time as he has been recaptured, I will not hear a word about the precautions necessary for your protection.'

Harry crossed his arms, recalcitrant. 'It's not as though I walk around getting myself into trouble at every turn,' he whinged in annoyance.

'I don't!' he insisted, when Minerva raised a disbelieving eyebrow. 'Trouble finds _me_.'

'All the more reason for precaution,' Minerva said stiffly, sitting herself down in the chair behind her desk. 'In fact, I would prefer that you not practise in the evenings anymore… out on the dark pitch without protection, it's rather too exposed. We know Black has been in the grounds in the past, and –'

'No,' said Harry flatly, furious. 'I'm _not_ giving up Quidditch!'

Minerva's eyes flashed, and Harry quickly adopted a different tactic.

'You _can't_ want me too,' he pleaded, his own eyes beseeching. 'Our first match is Saturday next, and we won't stand a chance if I've not been able to practise all week. Can't… isn't there anyone who could watch over us, just for a few hours?'

Minerva still looked cross, but Harry could tell he was winning the argument. 'Very well,' she conceded with a sigh. 'I shall come myself, if I have a free evening. Otherwise, I will send Madam Hooch. But you are _not_ to take to the air unless one of us is present, or I shall ban you from the team myself. Am I clear?'

Harry nodded quickly. 'Yes, ma'am,' he assured her with the ghost of a grin.

And he ducked out quickly for Arithmancy, before she could change her mind.

The talk of the school was how Black had crept into the castle… and yet, nobody seemed to have a theory that worked. Harry knew from Dumbledore himself that the headmaster had warded the entire castle against Black's entrance, and Padma Patil had told everyone in their shared Astronomy lesson on Wednesday that Flitwick was teaching the front doors to recognise a photograph of Black – just in case the dark wizard had learned to conceal his magical signature and fool the wards somehow. Theories about how he'd managed to gain entry ranged from some sort of brilliant Transfiguration to that he'd managed to tunnel under the lake… but nothing seemed to make sense to Harry. Nor to Hermione, who seemed to take it as a personal insult that Black was managing to skirt all the protections that _Hogwarts, A History_ insisted the school possessed _and_ those the staff had added.

In the meantime, on top of his changing of the guard routine, Harry now had to deal daily with the insufferable Sir Cadogan – an irritating knight with a fat little pony who had 'bravely volunteered' to guard Gryffindor Tower after the Fat Lady's indisposition. He appeared to consider it a great failure to keep a password longer than six hours, and regularly still denied entry to the students until they'd engaged him in witty banter or nostalgic reflection for ten minutes or so. The result was a constant queue for passage, and regular point deductions for their lateness to lessons.

Added to all _this_ misery was the constant drone of the continuing rain, which Harry was forced to practise in every night of the week preceding their first Quidditch match. He didn't think he'd ever be dry again, by the looks it, and his rancour over the circumstances they were likely to face on Saturday trebled when Wood announced on Friday that Malfoy was still claiming injury, meaning they would face Hufflepuff tomorrow instead. Harry hadn't played Hufflepuff properly since his first year – though, admittedly, that _had_ been the match he'd won in less than five minutes.

The rest of the team was as furious as he'd been at the news. The resulting chorus of complaints went on so long, Harry found himself running far too late for Remus's lesson. He burst through the door ten minutes in, clutching at a stitch in his side.

And promptly lost his House fifteen points, as _Snape_ was teaching in Remus's stead.

He was in a foul temper by the end of it. Not only had Snape refused to answer Harry's queries regarding Professor Lupin's illness; the Potions Master had also set them to reading a chapter they'd _never_ studied; assigned them a massive essay on werewolves that they had to turn in to _him_ ; threatened to go to Dumbledore over Remus' supposed incompetence; and snapped at Hermione so badly that _Ron_ had come to her defence, earning himself a detention for his cheek.

The full lot of these transgressions ate away at Harry's fraying temper, but the whole horrifying fiasco was compounded by his thoughts on Remus's absence. He was concerned, of course, that Remus was ill again… and he dearly wished he knew what was wrong with him. But he also felt a bit neglected, as childish as it felt. Remus had been avoiding him much of the week, despite his constant gaze when they were together in the Great Hall or lessons. He'd deliberately busied himself with tidying the cages after their Tuesday afternoon lesson, pretending not to notice Harry dawdling in the doorframe. He'd suddenly struck up a conversation with Professor Sinistra when Harry had tried to catch him after dinner in the Great Hall on Wednesday evening. And he hadn't answered Harry's knock on the door to his private study, when Harry had gone up on Thursday night just before curfew.

Harry had questions; so many questions, in the wake of what had happened on Sunday night. And he hadn't yet discussed his visit to Godric's Hollow with the headmaster with anyone – not even Ron and Hermione – as the events of the latter portion of the day had stolen everyone's attention for the moment. Much of the headmaster's own story, of course, he had promised not to speak of… but he really wanted to discuss his parents with Remus.

Except, it seemed, Remus did _not_ want to have the discussion with Harry.

So Harry had worked himself up all week to force Remus's hand after Friday's lesson, when he knew the after-lesson lunch break would mean Remus couldn't escape off to some immediate engagement. But he hadn't banked on Remus falling ill again. Nor on Snape's substitution.

It was the worst ending to a miserable week he could have thought possible.

Harry nearly threw himself out of his chair when the lesson ended, feeling as though he'd rather _sleep_ in the driving storm outdoors than spend one more moment with the Potions Master.

But, as apparently was his lot this week, Harry was not going to get what he wished.

Snape's spidery hand shot out in front of him, his forearm blocking Harry's exit and cutting him off from Ron and Hermione.

'I want a word, Potter,' Snape said coldly.

Harry glared, not able to hide his temper.

'I'm hungry, _sir_ ,' he said pointedly, barely this side of civil. 'Perhaps I could come down after –'

'Luncheon will wait,' Snape cut him off. 'Or, if you prefer, I can have a sandwich sent up. But you will sit.'

Ron and Hermione, who had waited on the other side of Snape's barrier, shot Harry looks of commiseration. Harry saw that Hermione had a hand on Ron's arm, and was grateful, at least, that Ron did not earn himself another detention arguing Harry's corner.

He sighed.

'I'll catch you up,' he said forlornly to his friends, tossing his bag miserably at the foot of the nearest student chair.

Snape shut the classroom door smartly in their still-surprised faces.

'Sit,' he repeated.

Harry sank onto the chair, wondering if this was to be his most lecture-heavy week of term. He glared at the wood of the desk, refusing to speak first. Then jumped back with a start, as a plate of sandwiches popped up inches from his nose.

'I can eat later, sir,' he said, raising his eyes to meet Snape's. He didn't like the idea of giving into the gesture… it felt too much like tit-for-tat.

'You will eat,' Snape said, leaning back against Remus's desk and crossing his arms. 'As you've already stated so clearly, it's _lunchtime_.'

Harry scowled, but bit into a sandwich. He hadn't been lying, after all… he _was_ hungry.

'Where's Remus?' he demanded after he'd swallowed, as it seemed Snape was in no hurry to reach his own point.

Snape's eyes flashed dangerously. 'Professor Lupin,' he corrected. 'You will show due respect to all your… _professors_ … when you are attending school in this castle. And you will address me as _sir_ , Potter, if you have a query.'

'We're not _in_ lessons, _sir_ ,' said Harry mulishly. 'Where is he?'

Snape was looking more livid by the minute, and Harry knew he was pushing his luck. The Potions Master seemed to grind his teeth as he watched him pick at the sandwich. 'He is ill,' he repeated.

'You've said, sir,' Harry acknowledged. 'With what? The same thing as usual, or has he got something –'

'It is his usual affliction, yes,' Snape spat out before Harry could finish. 'Which he suffers from _monthly_ , Potter. I should get used to his regular absences, and my own need to… assist.' His tone was derisive, but his eyes bored into Harry's as he spoke… as though trying to convey something obvious. Harry frowned.

'Why did you want me, sir?' he asked. 'We're not due another wandless lesson until next –'

'I _know_ the timetable, Potter,' Snape spat. 'I set it.'

'Well then why am I –'

'I wish to discuss _Lupin_ ,' Snape said curtly.

Harry stared, well surprised. 'You won't tell me what's going on with him,' he pointed out. 'And it isn't like you're friends, sir. What is there to talk about?'

Snape sneered. 'No, we are not _friends_ , Potter,' he agreed in a drawling voice. 'And I do not think it wise that you spend additional time with him, outside your Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons, of course.'

Harry stared, caught between shock and indignation. 'It's… it's not any of your business who I spend –'

'Careful, boy!' Snape spat furiously. 'Or I shall take even more points from your House for your impertinence.'

Harry felt his temper simmer dangerously. 'Why are you so horrible to him, _sir_?' he asked defiantly. 'I know you don't get on, or whatever, but he's _never_ said a word against you. He's respectful, always, and you can't even –'

'Do not presume to understand my relationship with _Lupin_ , Potter,' Snape said in an even more dangerous voice. 'And you would be foolish, in the extreme, to assume you know him better than myself. I have known Lupin for _years_ , Potter, since long before you graced the earth, and I know things about him that would make you cower in fear.'

Harry snapped his mouth shut, but continued to glare at the Potions Master. 'Remus has been great to me, ever since June. He's watched out for me, he's taught me, he's been there when things were hard. He was my father's best friend,' he said stubbornly. 'And my mum's.' Snape gave an irritated jerk at the words, and Harry felt his anger return. 'Just because _you_ didn't like them –'

'This has _nothing_ to do with your arrogant father or the time we endured together under this roof!' Snape interrupted.

He'd lunged toward Harry now, who momentarily thought he was about to be struck… but Snape grasped the edges of Harry's desk instead, leaning across the wood so they were nearly nose to nose. Harry bent back, truly frightened.

'You will _listen_ , Potter, and hear me,' Snape said, his voice low and serious again. 'You are _not_ to spend any time with Remus Lupin outside what your timetable demands for the purposes of completing your Defence studies, do you understand? You are not to meet him for tea, or visit his quarters, or so much as walk alongside him alone in a corridor.'

' _What_?' Harry spat out, as Snape finally pushed away from his work table again to stand glowering in front of him.

Snape couldn't know, of course, that Harry had been thinking of nothing _but_ those things all week… that all he craved right now was Remus's company, the chance to talk with him about the million things running through his mind.

But it was so classic Snape to take it from him anyway.

Harry sputtered, indignant. 'You can't just… what does Albus say? He'd never make me –'

'This is _my_ instruction, Potter,' Snape said, still glaring at him. 'The _headmaster_ is immaterial.'

'The headmaster is in charge, sir,' Harry pointed out, still reeling. 'Of the school, and of Remus, and of _me_. You can't just throw something like this out there because you hate Remus, and expect me to –'

'I expect you to _obey_ , Potter,' Snape insisted in a growl, 'Because I am your professor, your elder, and by _far_ your magical superior. And if you disobey my instruction in any way, you will cease studying wandless magic with me… and there will be severe – _severe_ – consequences.'

'But, _why_?' Harry insisted. He was so bewildered by the force of Snape's command, he momentarily forget his own fury.

'Because,' the Potions Master said, returning to his usual silky tone and toying with the turn-ups of his robes, no longer looking at Harry, 'As I have already indicated, I am more knowledgeable on Remus Lupin than you,' he said simply. 'And I have determined, from this knowledge, that inviting any further relationship with him is unwise. He is your professor – nothing more.'

Harry felt as though the professor had slapped him, though Snape could not know why the words cut so deeply. He knew Remus would not have confided in the Potions Master about his feelings toward Harry… even if this _was_ what Remus wanted, now. And yet… it was everything that Harry had been afraid of, these past few days. That Remus no longer wanted Harry around.

He set his jaw, determined not to let Snape see him falter.

'Can I go?' he asked through his teeth.

' _May_ you go,' Snape corrected maddeningly. 'And no, you may not. Not until you give me your word that you understand.'

Harry gave one, stiff nod.

' _Aloud_ , Potter,' Snape insisted.

'Yes, sir,' Harry ground out.

Snape jerked his head toward the door and Harry scrambled to his feet, fumbling for his school bag. He couldn't get out of the room fast enough.

'Potter,' Snape called as Harry reached the classroom door.

Harry turned, still scowling. Snape's eyes were boring into his own again, with an intensity that made Harry feel as though he were being burned.

'Yes, sir?' Harry asked, blinking to break the scrutiny.

Snape frowned, leaning back against the desk again and still glaring at him. 'Be _sure_ to write that essay,' he warned. 'I shall give you my critique at next Thursday's _detention_.'

Harry's scowl deepened. But he nodded once before hurrying from the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, trying valiantly not to think about _either_ of its resident professors.

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The weather was atrocious. Worse, today, than it had been the previous three weeks. Albus considered the sky as he made his way down to the pitch with Minerva, walking slowly even under their massive conjured umbrella, aiming to avoid the puddles that littered the ground.

'Perhaps we ought to reschedule,' he suggested, frowning at the dark, thunderous clouds.

'Reschedule?' Minerva scoffed. She gave him a sideways look as though he were mad. 'We do not _reschedule_ Quidditch, Albus,' she said with a shake of her head.

'It seems likely to thunder,' he observed. 'I do not relish the thought of Harry – or _any_ of my students, for that matter – zooming about on broomsticks in the midst of an electrical storm. Someone could be grievously injured.'

'We've charms over the pitch to prevent that sort of thing. And weather is a part of the sport,' Minerva insisted firmly. 'Why, I remember in my own fourth year… record-breaking blizzard conditions: in November, nonetheless. Not something we usually deal with in practise, as Quidditch takes a break in the winter; but of course, it was still autumn and we had a match against Slytherin, so up we went. So white you could barely see the quaffle, and half the squad spent a week in hospital wing taking Defrosting Draught against the frostbite…' she grinned with nostalgia. 'Most fun I've ever had on a broomstick,' she admitted. 'And we won by nearly two hundred points.'

Albus stared, bewildered. 'At times, my dear, you astound me,' he said seriously.

Minerva laughed and slapped playfully at his arm.

The stands were filled to capacity when they reached them: the entire school packed in as usual, as though the day were as balmy as late spring. Albus and Minerva slipped into the teacher's section, grateful for the cover of the overhang that shielded the worst of the rain.

The teams were drenched in moments – before they'd even mounted their brooms. Albus could hardly keep an eye on the lot of them as they took to the air, becoming naught but blurred specks of scarlet and yellow against the ever-darkening sky. The thunder was louder than the commentary, and most of the school was left to guess at the score as the match dragged on – thirty minutes, forty-five, an hour…

Albus willed Harry to catch the Snitch, if only to bring an end to this foolishness before he was forced to cancel a day of lessons for the second week running while the entire school was dosed with Pepper-Up.

Two hours…

He hardly knew how the boy would see to catch it, with the rains driving down so relentlessly and every player's broom blowing regularly off course. Four students had already been slammed by Bludgers, the balls taking advantage of the poor visibility. It became steadily harder to tell the squads apart as the water darkened both their robes and the sky.

Three hours…

At last, the Gryffindor captain flew at Madam Hooch, signalling frantically for a break. Albus turned to Minerva as the players huddled on opposite sides of the pitch.

'Do you stand by your position now?' he asked, half-playful and half-serious as he smirked.

She set her jaw stubbornly. 'Quite,' she said with a stiff nod, though Albus could read her underlying anxiety. 'They must learn to deal with the elements, and there are methods to cope with a bit of rain.'

' _A bit of rain_ ,' Albus repeated, shaking his head. But he watched a bushy-haired figure tear down the pitch toward the scarlet huddle, and smiled slightly. 'It appears someone has,' he noted, nodding toward Hermione.

'Clever girl,' Minerva agreed in approval, as they watched Hermione tap Harry's glasses and teach an incantation to the rest of the players.

Madam Hooch's whistle sounded not long after, and the fourteen flyers shot up into the storm again. The time out had done nothing to lessen the downpour, but Albus could tell the small relief of the spell had lightened the scarlet-clad players' mood. The Gryffindor team took possession of the Quaffle almost immediately, and put two more goals away.

Several of the students squeaked in concern as a clap of thunder shuddered the seats. It was growing so dark now, it seemed as if night was falling early in the grounds of the school. The brightest illumination was coming from the regular cut of lightning across the sky.

'Thirty minutes,' Albus said, leaning over to speak in Minerva's ear. 'And then I am postponing, Minnie, whatever the circumstances.'

She rolled her eyes but did not retort, too busy watching the match. The wind was picking up now, gusting colder and colder through the stands. Albus's eyes narrowed as he watched the smallest player, who's broom had just dropped dangerously several feet before he turned, streaking off toward the middle of the pitch.

'He's seen it!' Minerva squealed, pressing her hand against her mouth as both Harry and Cedric Diggory began tearing up the pitch in opposite directions. 'You're so much faster – you've got him! Go, go!' she encouraged; oblivious, it seemed, to the chilling in the air.

But Albus felt the cold for what it was. He tore his eyes from his watch on Harry, leaning over the edge of the box to stare down at the grass.

There were hundreds… gliding onto the pitch from every direction. He cursed himself for his distraction; for not recognising the signs earlier… as a hush began to fall among the masses of supporters. He drew his wand in a flash, cold fury in his heart.

 _In His grounds… at His school… with His –_

' _Harry_!'

Minerva's shriek broke his concentration. Her hand came down ironclad on his wand arm in horror, unwittingly stalling his building spell.

Albus raised his eyes from the encroaching Dementors, his heart actively pounding in his chest.

Harry had come off his broom. He was free falling through the air… gathering speed as his tiny body careened in a spiral toward the earth, toward the mass of black figures waiting eagerly to devour their prey.

' _Arresto Momentum_!' he bellowed, thrusting his Minerva-free hand toward Harry with all the power he could wield.

Harry's body froze in its fall twenty feet off the ground, then began floating downward in a much slower descent.

' _Expecto Patronum_!' Albus cried, wrenching his wand arm free again and directing his spell with trembling force toward the sea of foul creatures attacking his child.

They fled at once, gliding back across the edges of the pitch and away into the darkness as the phoenix hovered, protecting Harry's path to the ground.

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The first thing that Harry became aware of was the pain. He hurt. Everywhere. Like someone had beaten him with a massive club.

The second thing he noted was the familiar aftertaste of potions in his mouth, and the barely-masked sensation of nausea still clinging despite whatever he'd been forced to consume. The combination of the pain and the sickness made him feel like he was recovering from a nasty bout of flu. Altogether, not a pleasant way to wake up.

Through his somewhat hazy brain, Harry tried to recall what had happened. He didn't remember falling ill, but…

'… must have been fifty feet, at least,' someone was saying nearby.

'If Dumbledore hadn't stepped in,' a girl's voice said in answer. 'I thought he was –'

'… still hit the ground so hard,' a boy muttered. 'But Madam Pomfrey says he hasn't any broken bones.'

'Why hasn't he woken up?' a high-pitched squeal added. 'It's been almost an hour already.'

'Dumbledore should have cancelled the match,' a shaking, familiar voice hissed. Harry could hear tears in her speech. 'All that weather… it was set for disaster before you even got into the air. And now Harry – _Harry_?'

Harry had turned toward the last voice automatically. He felt a hand on his cheek, and opened his eyes with some effort.

''Mione,' he greeted her, trying to focus on her face as his vision adjusted.

Someone placed his glasses helpfully over his eyes. Hermione looked pale and terrified, her cheeks tear-stained. But she broke into a wide smile as she saw he was awake.

'Oh, Harry!' she said, leaning carefully down to kiss him on the forehead. 'Thank God you're awake. We were so worried. The match –'

 _The Match!_

Harry sat bolt upright, all immediate thoughts of illness and injury gone as the memories came flooding back to him in a horrified whoosh. There were several gasps and cries of alarm at the sudden movement. Harry's eyes darted around the room.

He was in the Hospital Wing, of course. In the same third-in bed that he always seemed to wake in. The little space around his sickbed was crowded: seven people staring anxiously at him. Harry saw the entirety of his Quidditch team, minus Wood – drenched in mud and still wearing their flying gear. Ron was seated in the chair to his left, half-risen as though to brace him if he toppled and looking just as grim-faced as Hermione. She was to his right, and at the moment looked caught somewhere between relief and disapproval.

'The match!' Harry said aloud, scanning the faces before him. 'What's happened with the match? Was it called off? Are we doing a replay?'

The players began giving each other oddly tense looks, each refusing to meet his eyes. Hermione bit her lip.

'You should lie down, Harry,' she said, palming his chest gently in an effort to push him back into bed. 'Madam Pomfrey says you're –'

' _What happened with the match_?' Harry repeated tensely, ignoring Hermione as he turned instead to glare at Ron.

The red-head swallowed audibly. 'They… er, Hufflepuff got the Snitch, Harry,' he said in a low voice. 'Diggory. He caught it just after you fell. They won the match.'

Harry felt a new wave of nausea rise within him – one he highly doubted was related to the Dementors' effects. His vision seemed to tunnel as he heard Hermione and one of the Chasers start tutting anxiously – someone's hand on his brow as someone else pushed him over a yellow basin. Hufflepuff yellow, Harry thought wildly. How fitting.

He sicked up violently into it.

'… think this can wait,' Katie Bell was hissing, when Harry at last emerged from the basin. 'Look at the state of him!'

'We should call Madam –' George began, looking very uncharacteristically grave, but Harry protested at once.

'No, I'm fine,' he insisted, wiping sick off his mouth with a pyjama sleeve. 'I – I want to know what happened.'

'Harry,' Ron began, looking very uncertain. But he backpedalled at the glare Harry gave him. 'Alright, alright,' he relented, palms up. 'Just stay horizontal this time, yeah?'

Harry gave a stiff nod, still glaring. Ron swallowed again.

'You were miles ahead of him, mate,' he assured Harry with half a grin. 'No way he'd have beaten you if the… if the Dementors hadn't come. But when they did, you sort of… well, you know,' he said, shrugging guiltily. 'I don't reckon Diggory really registered you'd fallen – he was so focused on the Snitch. He got it a few seconds later.'

'He tried to call it off after,' Alicia put in, coming a bit closer to the bed. 'Said we ought to do a rematch, that it wasn't a fair catch.'

'But it was,' Angelina admitted with a sigh. She patted Harry's knee in sympathy. 'Not your fault, Harry,' she told him. 'But it was fair. Even Wood admitted it.'

Harry pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes in temper. How _could_ he have gone to pieces like that – _again_? He'd cost them the match. He might have cost them the Cup.

'Don't beat yourself up, Harry,' said Fred bracingly, yanking on his arms to relieve Harry's eyes. 'It _wasn't_ your fault. The Dementors aren't supposed to be in the grounds. You couldn't have known what would happen.'

'Dumbledore went mental,' said George, shaking his head with wide eyes. Fred let out a low whistle.

'He did,' he agreed with feeling. 'I've never seen him like that before. You could feel it in the whole stadium.'

Angelina shuddered. 'Power,' she said simply. 'It was almost as scary as the Dementors, really.'

And Harry, remembering the few times he'd witnessed Dumbledore in a real temper, privately agreed.

'So what happened then?' he asked, though he knew anything they might say could not relieve the deep sense of guilt preying on his mind.

'It was sort of hard to tell,' Ron admitted with a shrug. 'Everything was mad. People were screaming, and crying. Lots of crying. Girls, mostly, of course.' He rolled his eyes at Harry as though trying to convey some humour. But Harry could see the tear tracks still evident on his best mate's face too… and knew it hadn't been funny in the slightest.

'Anyway,' Ron continued, clearing his throat, 'The teachers all jumped up to help. Dumbledore cast a spell and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Saved you from breaking your neck.'

'And then he pointed his wand at the Dementors,' Hermione picked up. 'And he shot a silver spell at them. The patronus, I suppose it was. It drove them back from the pitch. You were on the ground by then, but you weren't moving. The headmaster and Professor McGonagall came down and put you on a stretcher, and he floated you back up here. The other teachers had to get everyone back to the school, of course. And that's it, really. You've been out cold since.'

'How long?' asked Harry dully.

'Nearly two hours,' Fred supplied helpfully. 'We weren't allowed in for the first bit, but Dumbledore bullied Madam Pomfrey into letting us stay for a while when he had to go to see to the Dementors. Everyone's still in chaos – the Heads of House are all supposed to be forcing their students to eat some chocolate, and Madam Pomfrey's going ballistic. Says she thinks every one of them is going to come down ill. She wasn't happy the headmaster let us stay at all, mind, so she's made us eat about four slabs already.'

Harry could tell Fred was offering the information to make him feel a bit better, and he appreciated the gesture. He gave a weak smile.

'Where's Wood?' he asked curiously, noticing the captain's absence again.

Alicia bit her lip. 'He's, er… still in the showers,' she admitted.

'We think he's trying to drown himself,' George clarified lightly.

Harry buried his face in his hands again, feeling worse than ever.

'Cheer up, mate,' George said, clapping his shoulder. 'You've never missed the Snitch before.'

'There had to be one time you didn't get it,' Fred added bracingly.

'But the Cup,' Harry moaned. 'We're out, now. And it's all my fault.'

'Not necessarily,' Angelina disagreed. 'We're down one hundred points, right? So if Hufflepuff loses to Ravenclaw –'

'And Ravenclaw loses to Slytherin,' Katie cut in, tapping at her fingers.

'Or Slytherin beats Hufflepuff,' offered George, frowning. 'But –'

'Loses to Ravenclaw,' finished Fred.

'Or even if Slytherin wins, and we manage to beat them by more than one hundred…' Ron piped up.

'I should go talk to Wood,' Harry said decisively, pushing the bedclothes back.

'Harry,' Hermione said anxiously, 'I really think you should stay –'

' _Back in that bed at once, Mr Potter!_ ' a furious voice interrupted.

Harry cringed as Madam Pomfrey emerged from around the curtained corner, a tray of potions balanced in one hand and her face absolutely livid. He pulled his legs back onto the mattress.

'You lot – out!' the matron continued, rounding on the crowd of Gryffindors.

'But, the headmaster said –' Fred tried to protest.

'That you could keep watch over him while he was unconscious,' the mediwitch finished for him as she set the tray on Harry's bedside table. 'That is no longer the case. Mr Potter needs potions and rest, not excitement. Out – all of you!'

She flapped her hands at the gaggle of teenagers, and they conceded begrudgingly. All wished Harry a speedy recovery with false cheerfulness, and hurried for the door to the Hospital Wing.

'And you two,' Madam Pomfrey added, turning her stern gaze on Ron and Hermione, who hadn't moved.

'Oh please, Madam Pomfrey,' Harry begged. 'Don't make them go.'

Harry hated the Hospital Wing. And he felt miserable in the wake of losing the match. The last thing he wanted, just now, was to be forced into rest on his own.

Madam Pomfrey's eyes softened. 'Fine,' she relented fussily, measuring out the first dose of vile potions for Harry to take. 'But the moment I feel you are too riled up, Harry, everyone leaves,' she warned him. 'Sit up a bit and take this.'

He complied without complaint, too grateful for the compromise to push his luck. The potion was icy cold as it dripped down his throat. Must be Fever Reducer.

'And this one,' Madam Pomfrey continued, passing him what Harry recognised as Invigoration Draught. Harry swallowed obediently again, trying not to show his disgust. The matron forced one more potion on him that seemed to drown the worst of his aching, then handed him a glass of plain water when he'd finished.

'I'll be back in twenty minutes,' she warned him. 'There is a mug of hot chocolate on the table. It had better be gone when I return.' She gave him one last glare that dared him to disobey, and swept off toward her office again.

'She's in a mood,' Harry grumbled, reaching reluctantly for the mug of chocolate.

'You should have heard her after the match,' Ron said seriously. 'Even in the corridor, we could hear her shouting. I don't think I've ever seen her in such a temper.'

'Nor Professor McGonagall,' Hermione opined. 'Or the headmaster. I suppose the Dementors were a bit much for everyone.'

'I can't _believe_ I didn't have my wand!' Harry bemoaned, pushing the half-full mug back onto his bedside table. 'Two years I've flown with it at every match, after what happened in that first one with Quirrell… and _today_ , of all times, I didn't have it. Not that I've managed to do the charm properly yet anyway… but _how_ stupid could I –'

'Harry stop,' Hermione interrupted him. She picked up his half-drunk chocolate, pressing it back into his hands. 'Drink it, before Madam Pomfrey drugs you back to sleep and kicks us out,' she said bossily. 'And stop blaming yourself. It wouldn't have mattered if you had your wand, even if you _could_ do the Patronus charm perfectly,' she disagreed. 'There were dozens of those foul things. You'd never have managed it.'

Harry drank from the chocolate mug irritably. Whatever Hermione said, he felt humiliated, guilty and furious. He wondered if Remus had watched his failure.

'Was Remus at the match?' he asked them aloud.

Hermione shook her head. 'No,' she told him. 'He must still be ill.'

Harry looked around hopefully. Of course, the curtains were blocking his view of the other beds. 'Is he here?' he asked.

To his surprise, it was Ron who answered this time. 'No,' he said, frowning. 'And that's odd, now you mention it.'

Harry shrugged. 'Not really,' he disagreed. 'Madam Pomfrey might have sent him out to recuperate in his own rooms. Or maybe he just left… the professors probably don't get jailed the way we do.'

Ron raised a doubtful eyebrow. 'Yeah, maybe…' he said in clear disbelief. 'But he wasn't up here last night either. I had to come for my detention from Snape, remember? Scrubbing out bedpans. Disgusting, that was. I only got back so early because there weren't many to do, thank Merlin. Five beds – all students.'

'There's a couple of private rooms,' Harry reminded him. 'Maybe he was –'

But he cut himself off when he saw Ron shaking his head. 'Checked all those too,' he informed him. 'Only one occupied, and that was a first year with some odd skin condition. Lupin definitely wasn't here.'

Harry frowned. It _did_ seem strange that Remus hadn't come to hospital, if he was ill enough that he wasn't up to teaching their lesson yesterday. But then, he supposed this _was_ a chronic condition that Remus had. And he'd had it since boyhood, from the sound of it. Perhaps he was just used to managing on his own, especially if there wasn't much Madam Pomfrey could do about it. But he felt a bit let down that Remus wasn't around… perhaps we would have _had_ to talk to Harry, if they'd been shut up in here together.

'What's Dumbledore done about the Dementors?' he asked instead, returning to their original topic and pulling his mind forcibly from Remus's silence.

'Gone mental,' Ron said simply.

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'He conjured the Patronus,' she recounted, 'And that drove them back from the pitch. Then he brought you straight up here, and he was in with Madam Pomfrey for a bit while they sorted that out… he only left for the grounds again an hour or so ago. I suppose he was going to talk to them, or perhaps get the Ministry involved…'

'Boil them alive, more like,' Ron offered, still looking wary.

'I expect he'll be by soon,' Hermione finished, studying Harry's expression.

But Harry had thought of something else.

'What about my broomstick?' he asked suddenly, looking around his bed for a sign of it. 'Did someone remember to bring it up for me?'

Ron and Hermione exchanged terrified looks. Neither seemed to want to speak.

' _What_?' Harry insisted, sitting up in the bed again.

'Harry…' Ron started nervously. 'We… we couldn't do anything, mate. The winds – it was such a mess out there. When you fell, the broom sort of got blown away. Flitwick went to try and find it after he'd sorted the Ravenclaws, but…'

'It's _lost_?' asked Harry, devastated.

'No,' Hermione said, looking tearful again. 'No… he found it. But Harry… oh, Harry, it hit the Whomping Willow!'

Harry felt a dull blow in his stomach. He watched, horrified, as Hermione withdrew a paper bag from inside her satchel. He reached into it with trembling fingers. The splintered remains threatened to slice his hands as he grasped them hopelessly.

'Right,' he said weakly, mind spinning with the loss.

The weather… Sirius Black… Remus's distance… the Grim… the Dementors… missing the Snitch… and now, his beloved broomstick was destroyed.

He was well and truly beaten.

'Right,' he repeated.

And he leaned over and vomited again off the edge of the bed.

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 **Review Responses: Chapter 26**

 **Rosaleen** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm very happy you liked the chapter and the choice to have Albus speak about Ariana to Harry, as well as the bookending Severus and Sirius perspectives. Hope you enjoy the continuation!

 **AlsoKnownAsMatt** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. Poor Ron… he _is_ lazy, isn't he? Loyal, yes… but certainly a bit of a layabout. Nice to hear you liked Godric's Hollow and the Sirius break-in. I hope you like Chapter 27!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for your review! Happy to hear you liked the trip to Godric's Hollow. It was rather a jam-packed chapter (event-wise and emotion-wise), but I am grateful to hear that readers are enjoying it and hope that you will continue to like the story!

 **Elementalwriter908** : Thank you for your review! Yes, I have seen the new film, and am excited for the direction JKR seems to be moving for that series. I was excited to see that some of the Grindelwald gems in Fantastic Beasts actually align perfectly with my plans for him in this book (as, hopefully, readers will see shortly!), and _loved_ that we got a name and some more background on what was, presumably, Ariana's affliction. I didn't give all the details here, as I felt Harry was a bit young and Albus not quite ready… but we've laid some groundwork and it will certainly be explored further in future. I hope you like Chapter 27!

 **Me (Guest Reviewer)** : Thanks for reviewing! Another attack… might have been fun, but I think the chapter was heady enough without _more_ drama, haha. And yes, Albus is definitely full of precautions at the moment where Harry is concerned – though I doubt anyone would be able to sneak up on him even without the wards. Killing Albus Dumbledore is not so easy a feat. Glad you liked Bathilda – I thought it might be fun to see a little of her true character. And, of course, it sets us up nicely for possible later interactions. As to Grindelwald… I do not think for a moment that Harry will remain ignorant of his identity. Grindelwald has a large part to play yet in this story, and Harry will be involved in the scheme. I hope you like the next chapter!

 **Guest** : Thank you for reviewing! Glad I could make your day a bit brighter :). I hope you enjoy Chapter 27!

 **Leonore** : Thanks for your review! I'm very happy you liked it so much, even though it was a rather sad and emotional chapter. As to your questions… Yes, Albus will tell Harry more in future about Ariana and her obscurus… or, at the very least, he certainly intends to do so. He just couldn't have that discussion at this time; and Harry, quite truthfully, is not ready for it. As to whether he will confide in Harry about Grindelwald and/or that wizard's part in Ariana's tale… I will decline an answer at this point. I promise there will be much, much more to come on that portion of our story in future. I hope you like Chapter 27!

 **Babascoop** : Thank you for your review! I like your substitute title suggestion, haha… although the title I went with here was definitely a deliberate choice for various reasons. Yes, you are correct in that it's a very information-heavy chapter… and that even with the information I chose to hold off on for now. But it was necessary, as you've noted – for Harry; and for the relationship development between Albus and Harry. Much of the information had roots in canon; other bits were added… but you are correct in that Harry's reactions to much of the headmaster's story were the key points in that portion of the chapter. That righteous anger, in particular, will be important. As will the concept of obscurial magic.

I'm glad you found depth to Ariana and Bathilda here. I'm hoping that one thing this story can achieve is creating more three-dimensional characters where JKR did not have the time to flesh them out entirely (as yet, at least, because presumably that is one of her goals in continuing to add to the canon material). And the picture of Grindelwald… absolutely not an errant thought. It will certainly be relevant in future; Grindelwald has a much larger role yet to play – in past and in present.

Happy to hear you're liking the story so much! I hope you enjoy Chapter 27.

 **Guest** (2nd 'Guest' reviewer): Thanks for reviewing! It's great to hear you're liking the story, and I'm glad you find the Sirius perspectives interesting. I hope you like Chapter 27!


	28. The Innocent Prisoner

**A/N:** Hello loves! Well, we didn't _quite_ reach Christmas 1993 by Christmas 2016, which was my ambitious goal for this book, but we've come _very_ close! I'll work hard on getting the holiday chapter out by next week; perhaps even for New Year. Of course, I refuse to sacrifice quality for quantity or speed, so I will not promise outright… but things are looking quite promising at the moment.

Enjoy 'The Innocent Prisoner' – and please read and review!

Happy Christmas!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 28: The Innocent Prisoner**

'Harry…'

The soft voice echoed through Harry's restless half-sleep, jerking his eyes open at once.

Albus Dumbledore's face was inches from his own. The headmaster was smiling softly, but the gesture did not quite reach his eyes.

'Apologies,' the headmaster said quietly, straightening up as Harry pushed himself into a sitting position. 'I did not mean to disturb your rest, but you are due your next dose of potions.'

Harry grimaced, eying the phials on his bedside table. 'It's fine,' he muttered, wiping a hand over his face to wake himself a bit more.

Albus's smile faltered.

'It is not,' he assured him, seriously. 'What happened on the Quidditch pitch this afternoon was entirely unacceptable. And I fear I have only myself to blame for your convalescence this time – a fact which troubles me greatly.'

Harry frowned, staring at the headmaster.

'It wasn't _your_ fault, sir,' he said in confusion. 'It was mine. If I'd only been able to master that stupid spell… if I wasn't so bloody _weak_ in the first –'

'You are _not_ weak, Harry,' Dumbledore cut across him firmly. 'I have told you before, but it bears repeating. The effect the Dementors have on you is not something you can help, nor is it a reflection on your strength as a wizard _or_ as a person. And as to the patronus charm, you studied the spell only for a manner of weeks, at quite a young age. There are fully qualified wizards – _most_ fully qualified wizards, in fact – who never manage to master it. That you can produce anything at all is a huge achievement, and I am sure you will succeed in casting a corporeal form in due course.' He paused, his eyes twinkling slightly for the first time since Harry had awoken. 'I ought to chastise your language,' he noted, stroking his beard thoughtfully. 'But I find I am not in the mood to dock house points this evening.'

Harry grinned a little in spite of himself. 'Sorry.'

Dumbledore reached toward Harry's bedside table, pulling a little tray of phials closer. 'You seem better,' he noted, appraising Harry's face as he uncorked the first dose. 'But it would be unwise to push our luck.'

He handed Harry the first phial, and Harry downed it obediently. Dumbledore passed him two additional potions, each more foul than the last. He was sputtering by the time the headmaster finally handed him a goblet of water to wash away the taste.

'Madam Pomfrey's threatened to keep me through the week-end,' he complained as he finished the water.

'It was very serious, what happened to you on the pitch,' Albus said heavily. 'I'm afraid I agree with Poppy's abundance of caution, in this case.'

'But you saved me,' Harry pointed out. 'I didn't break anything – she told me so.'

'That is true,' the headmaster acknowledged. 'But bones, unfortunately, are often more easily mendable than other injuries. There were over one hundred dementors in the grounds. Their powers took a toll on you, Harry. And Madam Pomfrey tells me you have been ill from the effects even with the potions. She is right to keep you.'

'I _hate_ the hospital wing,' Harry whinged, not caring if he sounded petulant.

Albus smiled. 'You are very like your father, in that,' he said with amusement. 'He always detested being kept to bed too. I believe Madam Pomfrey once resorted to a toddler sticking charm, in his second year. You ought to ask her for the story.'

Harry laughed in spite of himself. It made him warm to think of his father… and that he was like him, even in this small way. Then he thought about what Ron and Hermione had said, and his smile faded. 'I heard you were really angry,' he said, looking curiously at Dumbledore. 'The others – they said they'd never seen you in such a temper before.'

Dumbledore's eyes hardened. 'Yes, I was angry,' he said quietly. 'At the Dementors, of course, as they have explicit orders from both the Ministry and myself not to enter the grounds… and at myself, for failing to recognise their presence on the pitch sooner than I did. You could have been seriously injured, or even killed. Any of the students might have been. It was a near miss as it was – and you are still not recovered.'

Harry shuddered a bit at the thought, and at the sudden aura of terrible power that still emanated slightly from the headmaster. 'But you dealt with them?' he clarified. 'They won't come back again?'

'Oh yes, I dealt with them,' Albus said darkly. 'They will not reappear at another match, I guarantee it.'

Harry nodded, breaking eye contact to fiddle with a stray thread from his bedclothes. He was tired, bored and immensely frustrated with himself again. 'I suppose the whole school will be talking about me again,' he said in annoyance. 'They all must have seen me fall.'

'I dare say most of the school has other concerns at the moment,' Albus reassured him. 'The Heads of House have been forcing chocolate down most of the students' throats at Poppy's insistence since the match ended, and now she's decided everyone ought to be dosed with Pepper-Up Potion as well. I believe Professor Snape is supervising the N.E.W.T. potions students in brewing several vats in the dungeons as we speak. It will be served with supper this evening in the Common Rooms.'

Harry gave a weak smile. 'She's diabolical,' he said seriously. Albus chuckled.

'I may be able to spring you,' the headmaster decided, the barest hint of a twinkle in his eye for the first time that evening.

Harry brightened at once, grinning broadly. 'I can go back to the Tower?' he asked, elated.

Dumbledore sighed. 'No,' he disagreed. 'I do not think Madam Pomfrey's good nature would stretch so far as to allow me to grant that request. But I do think she would consent to your spending the remainder of the week-end in your room in my own chambers, should you wish to do so.'

Harry beamed. 'I'd love that,' he said earnestly. Dumbledore gave a conspiratorial wink, and jerked his head for Harry to climb out of the bed.

Harry followed eagerly. He _was_ a little unsteady on his feet.

'We shall take the floo,' Albus decided, steadying Harry with one hand. 'Best not to push our luck on the stairs, I think.'

He led Harry toward Madam Pomfrey's office. The mediwitch was in attendance, and she glanced up from a pile of complicated-looking notes at their approach. Her gaze grew thunderous in an instant.

'Why have you got my patient out of his bed, Headmaster?' she demanded in what Harry could tell was a voice of very forced calm. He kept his own lips squeezed tight, allowing Dumbledore to take the lead.

'I have decided to take Harry back up to my quarters,' he informed her. His tone was friendly, but there was an understated authority in it that Harry knew Madam Pomfrey would not miss. She pursed her lips, looking highly miffed.

'He is on _bedrest_ for the remainder of the week-end, Albus,' she told him primly. 'I would prefer he be monitored and –'

'And he will be,' Albus promised her. 'There is nothing I have on that is currently more pressing, I assure you. But I think Harry would be more comfortable in his own bed, and as there is no urgent medical need to keep him in hospital…'

Madam Pomfrey huffed, but she relented.

'You will send for me if something occurs?' she needled, giving the headmaster a beady-eyed stare. 'And I trust you know the potions regimen?'

'You have my word,' Dumbledore assured her, inclining his head. 'Might we trouble you for the use of your hearth?'

Madam Pomfrey brushed a hand toward the fireplace in impatient assent, still looking as though she were surrendering against her better judgment.

Albus squeezed Harry's shoulder once, and led him forward into the floo.

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Albus guided Harry directly up to his bedchamber, which was largely unchanged since the summer holidays. Harry traded his hospital-issue pyjamas gratefully for a set of the gold and scarlet he kept in his chest of drawers in the bedroom, and the headmaster helped him into the comfortable bed. The effort had clearly exhausted the child, and his eyes were heavy as Albus pulled the blankets up to his chin.

'I would suggest a game or two,' Albus said with a smile. 'But I dare say you'll be asleep before I've even set up a board. It is alright,' he added quickly, as Harry wrenched his eyes open again. 'You should sleep. It will help.'

Harry gave in, allowing his eyes to flicker shut. Albus was just pushing off the bed again when Harry spoke in a slurred, slow mutter. 'Saw th' Grim 'gain,' he said, turning his head slightly against the pillow for a more comfortable position.

Albus froze in his attitude above the candle he'd intended to dim.

'Pardon?' he asked, laying a hand on the boy's arm. 'What did you see, Harry?'

'Grim,' Harry grunted, shifting again. 'Like Trelawney said. Seen it 'fore. Las' time, Snape came. An' this time, 'twas you. Saved me, guess.'

Albus furrowed his brow, disconcerted. 'You've seen it before, Harry? A black dog?'

'Mmm,' Harry said, his eyes still shut. 'In 'Nolia Crescent. Night I ran from Durses.'

'I see,' the headmaster murmured, slightly troubled. He laid a hand on Harry's forehead, letting just a bit of magic seep through. 'You were likely imagining it today, Harry,' he soothed him. 'Dementors can play tricks on the mind, as you know. Most likely you conjured a vision of the dog out of fear.'

Harry did not answer, already lulled into sleep. Albus brushed his fringe lightly, and swept from the room.

Severus was waiting in the sitting room.

'You have Potter,' he accused, before Albus could even offer a greeting.

'Yes,' the headmaster agreed lightly, flicking his wand at a corner cabinet and sending a bottle of Firewhisky and two tumblers gliding onto a side table. 'Nightcap?'

'Why?' Severus demanded, not bothering to answer.

'Because Harry is my responsibility, and he needed familiarity tonight. How did you know he was here?' Albus asked. He uncorked the bottle and poured each of them a generous measure of drink.

'Poppy informed me, when I went to the hospital wing in search of you,' said Severus, taking the glass Albus offered him with a stiff nod of thanks.

'Excellent timing,' Albus observed. 'We have barely been here ten minutes. Would you care for something to eat?'

'No, thank you,' the Potions Master said impatiently. 'Albus, why not leave the child in hospital? He isn't _your_ charge while Hogwarts is in session, and Poppy is more than capable of seeing to his recovery. There is an entire school of children in need of you right now.'

'There is a child upstairs who needs me more,' Albus insisted. 'And I am perfectly capable of seeing to both, Severus. I take it the Pepper-Up has been completed and distributed?'

Severus rolled his eyes. 'Obviously,' he said, though his voice was more sarcastic than rancorous now. 'The Houses are eating now, and we dosed every student. You can barely see through the steam in the Common Rooms.'

Albus's eyes danced with amusement. 'Poppy ought to be thrilled,' he noted.

'Undoubtedly,' Severus drawled. 'I suppose it matters little to her that I have completely depleted my stock of bicorn horn _and_ had to watch over thirty incompetent fools through this ridiculous drama.'

'Peace, Severus,' said Albus soothingly. 'I shall place an owl order myself on the morrow. And I fail to see how the N.E.W.T. students could ever be called incompetent, given the high standards you impose for entry into your advanced lessons.'

'A necessary requirement, and yet they still manage to bungle half their assignments,' the Potions Master said unapologetically, waving a hand. He drank a sip of the whisky. 'Has anyone been to see Potter, since his latest brush with disaster?'

The tone was careless, but Albus could sense something unsaid in the question. He gazed piercingly at Severus as he answered… but the professor was turning his drink in his hand, watching the flow of the amber liquid instead of the headmaster's face.

'His teammates and Ms Granger and Mr Weasley were with him when he awoke,' he said slowly. 'But Poppy kept all other visitors out until I arrived this evening. Why do you ask?'

'No reason, particularly,' Severus said silkily. 'I did wonder if the wolf –'

'Remus,' Albus corrected sternly. 'Or Lupin. But show him at least courtesy, Severus, if you cannot bring yourself to reach civility.'

' _Lupin_ , then,' the Potions Master amended through gritted teeth. 'He hasn't been by to see his precious Golden Boy?'

'Not yet,' Albus answered, still trying to study Severus' face through his curtain of greasy hair. 'I believe he is still recovering from the cycle, though I expect he will come by tomorrow once he hears what occurred today.'

'Very well,' Severus said curtly. He drained the rest of the drink in one gulp, and placed the empty tumbler on the table. He started toward the office door.

'Was there nothing else, Severus?' Albus asked, curious at the lack of purposeful visit.

Severus paused in his exit, crossing his arms. 'No, headmaster,' he said. 'I just wished to inform you that the potion had been taken care of.'

'Hmm,' Albus said. He fixed Severus with his ice blue stare. The Potions Master gazed back, impassive and expressionless. But behind the apathy he was a steel wall… and Albus did not wish to start an argument by pushing tonight.

So he pursued a different line.

'Harry tells me that he saw a Grim today, before he fell from his broom,' he confided.

Snape's expression hardened, and Albus saw his knuckles whiten against the black of his robes. 'I thought you'd spoken with the _Seer_ on that score,' he accused.

'And so I have,' Albus said with a nod. 'But he says he saw it all the same. It was difficult to make out – he was so exhausted when he mentioned it. He claims, however, to have seen the omen before. On Magnolia Crescent, the night he ran from his aunt and uncle's home.'

Snape's expression relaxed. 'Potter is overdramatic, as ever,' he said dismissively. 'There was a dog in the street. It attacked us both, as you will recall. But it was alive, and vicious. Omens do not intermingle with the physical world.'

'No,' Albus agreed, stroking his beard thoughtfully. 'Nor can they be seen by any but the one they are meant for, for that matter. The fact that you witnessed the dog in and of itself seems to rule out any precognitive purpose. Yet Harry seemed certain that the dog he saw today was the same animal, the same Grim.'

Severus scoffed. 'The boy is delirious,' he said impatiently. 'Fevered or exhausted, or both. There is no such thing as a _Grim_ , Albus, you know that.'

'Perhaps,' said Albus carefully. 'But dogs are decidedly real, Severus. And I find it curious that Harry should think the same animal that attacked you in Surrey was in the Hogwarts grounds this afternoon.'

'A figment of Potter's imagination,' Severus insisted again, though he too looked slightly unnerved. 'If there had been a dog in the stadium today, someone would have noticed. We do not allow them as pets at the school; its presence would have created some stir.'

'Perhaps…' said Albus, still stroking his long beard contemplatively. 'Perhaps.'

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Harry awoke on Sunday feeling decidedly better. Albus, to his consternation, would not allow him out of bed, but he did spend most of the day up in Harry's room: playing exploding snap (as Minerva was seeing to the school in the headmaster's absence), eating their way through the boxes of sweets that Harry's friends had sent to cheer him up and, when Harry grew tired again midmorning, composing a series of letters from his armchair while Harry slept. He even let Harry peruse one of the few remaining memories of his parents that he'd not yet had a chance to see from his birthday parcel, and they spent a highly amusing half-hour around midday watching James, Lily and Remus trying to construct what would become Harry's changing table – a process that even magic seemed hopelessly unable to assist with. James' and Remus' language grew increasingly more colourful with every failed attempt, until Lily finally snapped and hexed both their tongues to the roofs of their mouths. Harry rolled with laughter, wondering if this was where Remus had learned the _Langlock_ spell he'd used on Peeves a few weeks ago. The thought made him a bit depressed, as he contemplated Remus' continued silence and Snape's bitter warnings against him.

Dumbledore seemed to notice Harry's depression, as he picked at his lunch an hour or so after their trip into the Pensieve.

'Are you feeling alright?' the headmaster asked in concern, reaching out to test his forehead as Harry laid the fork aside.

'I'm fine,' lied Harry. 'Just… I was wondering, is Remus still ill?'

Dumbledore drew his hand back. He was still frowning slightly, but Harry figured the lack of immediate potions meant his temperature must still be normal.

'I believe he is doing better,' the headmaster said carefully. 'The illness usually only affects him a day or two at most, though it can vary.'

'Right,' said Harry, looking down again. He began tapping the end of his fork against the edge of the tray, banging out a tuneless pattern. Dumbledore's hand stayed his fidgeting.

'Do you want me to call for him?' he asked, studying Harry's face. 'I am sure he would come –'

'No – that's alright,' said Harry quickly. _He_ would not force Dumbledore to break this odd tension… Remus would think he'd gone crying to the headmaster instead of coming to him himself. 'I was just wondering whether he'd be in lessons tomorrow… Snape's not exactly the easiest stand-in.'

Albus's eyes twinkled in understanding. 'No, I expect not,' he allowed, though he was smiling. 'But Professor Snape is quite knowledgeable about Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry. You'll learn from him, if nothing else. And it will not be often he shall need to cover Remus' lessons.'

Harry gave a half-smile. 'Maybe not,' he said. 'But he does enough in one to last the month or so between. You know he's set us two whole rolls on werewolves as homework? To be handed in to him, and he doesn't even –'

'You do not have to write the essay,' said Albus, cutting across him in a suddenly sharp tone.

Harry stared. Even when he was complaining, it was not like Dumbledore to get cross with him like this. The headmaster's eyes were glittering, and not in the way that signalled any kind of amusement. Harry shivered slightly.

'It's fine, sir,' he amended quickly. 'I mean, it's not that much extra –'

'I am not angry with you, Harry,' the headmaster assured him, his expression softening again. 'I apologise, I must be a bit overtired myself.'

Harry was sure there was something the headmaster wasn't telling him, as he scrutinised Albus's face. But he knew better than to press the point.

'I'm a bit tired, actually,' said Harry, not entirely truthfully. 'I might lie down for a while.'

'You are sure you do not feel ill?' Dumbledore asked, adjusting the pillows as Harry settled. 'It is not yet time for your next dose of potions, but I could get you something to help you sleep if you need it.'

'No, I'm fine,' Harry assured him. 'But thank you.'

Dumbledore nodded, flicking his wand at the curtains to dim the daylight in the room. 'I need to go down to the study for a bit,' he told Harry, standing from the chair. 'But I will hear you, if you need me.'

'OK,' Harry agreed, pressing his eyes shut.

'Sleep well,' the headmaster said, closing the door quietly behind him as he left the bedchamber.

But once he had gone, Harry rolled over again, staring up at the ceiling fully awake. And he wondered… at Remus' distance, at Snape's rancour, and at the headmaster's sudden anger.

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'Severus.'

The voice was thunderous in the hearth, and green sparks danced dangerously around Severus's quarters as the headmaster's face appeared in the flames. Severus raised an eyebrow at the tone, but he set aside the journal he'd been perusing and stood to answer the call.

'Headmaster?' he asked, approaching the fire. Even in the embers, he could read anger in Albus's expression. 'What is it?' he asked, when Dumbledore did not immediately answer.

'Come through,' the headmaster said curtly. And the face was gone before Severus could reply.

Grumbling a bit at the interruption, he tossed a handful of powder into the grate and shot through the floo to the headmaster's study, brushing a stray bit of ash off his sleeve as he alighted on the hearthrug.

'What is it, headmaster?' he asked again, raising an eyebrow as Albus shot a one-way silencing charm at the foot of the stairs. He supposed Potter must be sleeping above.

Dumbledore's face was impassive, but his eyes sang with fury. 'How many times,' he said in a soft voice, 'Must I ask you to curtail your grudge against Remus Lupin?'

Severus felt his own blood begin to boil in response, despite the danger he sensed in this conversation. 'My feelings for _Lupin_ cannot be dissuaded, headmaster,' he spat stubbornly. 'The man tried to kill me –'

'He did not,' the headmaster cut across him firmly. 'Remus had no idea of what Sirius Black had plotted all those years ago, and the realisation cost him nearly as much as it cost you, Severus. We have had this conversation several times before.'

'Regardless,' Severus insisted, 'He _certainly_ participated with Black and Potter in all their nasty little tricks at school, and –'

'Petty feuds of childhood, which you _all_ ought to have left behind in your maturity,' Albus said pointedly. 'Clinging to the past will not aid you in creating a future, Severus, as I keep imploring you to see. And you were not innocent yourself in that imprudent rivalry.'

'He is a _werewolf_!' Severus all but bellowed, vaguely grateful that Albus had had the foresight to place the charm on the room. 'A werewolf, Albus! He _cannot_ be trusted. And that without the fact that he was inseparable from the man who now hunts your precious Potter brat like a bloodhound, and sent both his parents to their graves with his duplicity! I cannot stand by while you –'

'Enough,' said Albus. And though the word was not shouted, it drowned Severus' rant all the same. 'We have been over this many, _many_ times Severus. Remus is _not_ in league with Black. And I will not have you taking advantage of his affliction to set assignments that are _designed_ to out his secret to the students. You are perfectly aware what such a revelation would result in, and it is vindictive to a level that is quite unbecoming.'

Severus crossed his arms, glaring. 'I set the brats a reasonable assignment on a dark creature they had not yet studied,' he countered. 'That was not intended as a –'

'It was intended as bait, Severus, and you know it,' the headmaster declared, exasperation evident in his tone. 'I will not have it. You are to tell the students they need not complete the assignment. Or _I_ will. Remus is here at my invitation. As are you, Severus. You would do well to remember that.'

Severus felt suddenly as if the old man had slapped him, though Dumbledore's voice was still calm… perhaps even disappointed. It stung worse than if he'd been shouting.

'I am here,' he said icily, through gritted teeth, 'For _her_ , Albus. To ensure that _her_ foolish whelp of a son manages to make it, somehow, to adulthood intact and does not squander the gift _She_ gave him.'

He snatched a handful of powder out of the jar on the headmaster's mantle, not caring whether Dumbledore wanted to stop him anymore.

'And if it turns out that wolf had _any_ part in assisting the filthy bit of vermin who gave her to the Dark Lord,' he continued, throwing the powder into the flames, 'I swear to Merlin there is nothing, and nobody, who will be able to stop me exacting my vengeance.'

And he stepped into the sparking, crackling emerald flames – exactly the same shade as Her eyes.

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Albus decided to fly by thestral.

Apparition wasn't an option, of course – not to this forsaken island. And the weather had truly turned toward winter now: broom travel would be highly unpleasant. He supposed he _could_ have tried to work a way around the ward, but it seemed a lot of effort for a result that may create more notice of his presence today than he was keen to have. A week had passed since that fateful Quidditch match; a fortnight since his visit from Alastor… and he knew he could delay the journey no longer.

There were Aurors waiting when he landed, their wary stances relaxing as they saw the rider alight. Albus patted the beast in thanks, giving it a morsel of raw liver before turning to address the welcoming party.

'Good morning,' he greeted the duo with a relaxed smile.

He was unsurprised at their presence. After Black's escape, he'd expected that Fudge would instigate the twenty-four hour Auror presence that had been common before Lord Voldemort fell. He scanned their faces quickly to make his choice. John Dawlish and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Pity. Neither had been a part of the Order before – although, admittedly, many of the Order members who _had_ been Aurors in the previous war had died for one cause or another.

Dawlish he knew better. He was more senior than Shacklebolt, and was one of Cornelius's personal favourites. He'd fought in the war, for the Ministry. Dawlish was reasonably talented in combat and particularly talented on paper. But his loyalty was first, foremost and unquestionably to the Ministry. He was not a bad man, but he had little mind of his own. He was a Ministry creature entirely.

Shacklebolt… Albus did not know him as well. He'd gone the roundabout way into the Auror Corps, serving abroad in a diplomatic post after Hogwarts through the final few years of the War and then as a Hit Wizard for the MLE before Alastor had recruited him laterally. Albus knew Alastor had liked Kingsley, as far as Alastor expressed his approval of anyone; and that Arthur Weasley was friendly with him. And, just now, that was enough.

'Headmaster,' Dawlish greeted him curtly, inclining his head. Albus returned the nod. Dawlish looked awkward. 'There's no unauthorised visitors, Sir,' he said regretfully, sharing a look with Shacklebolt. 'Apologies, but it's only Ministry personnel and escorted family members who are allowed to enter the fortress until the situation is resolved. Minster's orders.'

Albus smiled benignly. 'Understood,' he said. 'In fact, I had suggested as much to Cornelius myself. Unfortunately, my business is rather urgent. I would have owled ahead had there been time, of course.'

Dawlish appeared rather cowed. 'Er – I suppose we could accompany you inside,' he started, uncertain. 'What is it you need?'

'I must see to something at the fortress,' Albus replied vaguely. 'I should hate to take you both away from your post in these dangerous times… but perhaps –' he paused, pretending to ponder the matter – 'Mr Shacklebolt, would you mind accompanying me into the prison?'

Dawlish and Shacklebolt exchanged looks again. The latter nodded.

'Very well,' he agreed, turning to lead the way. Albus fell into step beside him.

The cold of the Dementors' magic greeted them the moment Kingsley opened the doors, much harsher than the wintry sea winds outside. Albus raised his wand, giving the Auror a sideways glance.

'Do you mind?' he asked courteously.

'Not at all,' Kingsley assured him, drawing his own wand.

They cast together, and Albus was pleased to see a bright lynx join his own silver phoenix. The worst of the chill dissipated as they began their descent. Kingsley did not question the headmaster's purposeful direction, and Albus was grateful for it.

'I heard you had some trouble with those stationed at the school,' Kingsley offered conversationally as they rounded a torchlit corner.

Albus' mood darkened considerably in remembrance. 'Indeed,' he said, trying to keep his voice friendly. 'I must admit I detest Dementors. It is no secret that I advocated against their use at the fortress for many years. Even with the particular gravity of the current situation, I wonder at times whether their shadow at the castle hurts more than it helps. They have not, after all, stopped Black from crossing the boundaries twice now.'

Shacklebolt frowned. 'Fair point,' he said, slowly. 'I'm not overly fond of Dementors myself. They make highly effective guards, of course, but to trust in those with no conscience or moral compass… it is a bit like dancing with fire.'

'Precisely,' Albus agreed darkly. 'Just here, I think.'

He turned them into a long, narrow passage, about halfway down the bowels of the dungeons.

'A murderer,' Kingsley said. It was a statement, not a question, and Albus did not comment.

This row of cells was reserved to those who had slain Muggles. The prison was organised in levels: like Dante's seven-circle Hell. Wizard-killers were kept farther down. Positioning that irked the headmaster… to suggest that magical lives were worth more than their Muggle counterparts.

Death Eaters were jailed at the very bottom.

Albus found the correct cell at last, ten doors down the corridor. He glanced through the little window to confirm its tenant, then turned to Kingsley.

'I wonder, Mr Shacklebolt, if you might give me a moment alone with this man.'

Kingsley studied him, his face quite impassive. Then he gave a curt nod. 'I shall wait here, headmaster,' he said, indicating the passage around them. 'Shout if you need anything.'

Albus smiled graciously, and slipped through the cell door. He threw up a silencing charm as he clicked it shut behind him.

The cell's occupant was very tall, and broad-shouldered in a way that suggested he might once have been burly and strong. Now, however, years of confinement had shrunken his frame. He was emaciated. Loose skin hung off his bones, mottled and paper-thin in appearance. His shoulders were stooped, his hair mere scant wisps over an age-spotted skull. As he raised his head upon Albus's entry, the headmaster saw that his eyes were clouded with cataracts. If this man had borne any resemblance to the wizard Albus suspected was his nephew, it had long since faded with age.

'You are Morfin Gaunt?' Albus asked, conjuring himself a chair so prisoner and visitor were on eyelevel.

The man squinted back, but did not speak.

'I am Albus,' the headmaster continued after a short pause. 'Albus Dumbledore.'

Still, the man kept silent. It was difficult to tell from the shrouded eyes whether Morfin Gaunt had recognised the name.

'We have not met,' Albus tried instead. 'As you and your sister were not, of course, educated at Hogwarts. Had you come to the castle, I might have been your Transfiguration teacher.'

Still nothing. Albus sighed.

'Perhaps enough small talk,' he acknowledged, shifting forward in his chair. 'I wish to ask you, Morfin, about the night the Riddles were killed.'

And now, Morfin showed his first signs of life since Albus had entered the room. His ancient eyes widened slightly, and he spoke at last.

'The ring!' he growled, in a voice that cracked and croaked with decades of disuse. 'He'll kill me. He'll kill me for losing that ring!'

Albus frowned. He'd read about this, in the report that Alastor had managed to get to him. According to the Ministry, this was all Morfin Gaunt had ever said, after they'd heard his confession.

'What ring is that, Morfin?' he asked kindly.

' _Marvolo's_ ring,' Morfin insisted, as though Albus were mad. 'He'll kill me. He'll kill me for losing it.'

'How did you lose it, Morfin?' Albus pressed.

'He'll kill me,' the wizard repeated. 'He'll kill me for losing his ring.'

Albus considered the man's dull eyes. Morfin was looking straight at him, the plea evident even through the cataracts. The headmaster locked the gaze. He felt a bit ill, considering what he was about to do. Taking advantage of weak-minded, beaten men was not a thought he relished. But it had to be done. For Morfin… and for Harry.

Feeling a deep sense of foreboding, Albus whispered the incantation.

 _'Legilimens_.'

The old wizard's mind was faded and dimmed, memories and bits of thought moving slowly past… clouded with age and the Dementors' drain. There were great, gaping holes of blackness, where Albus knew the creatures had taken the hope and happiness that once resided there. He found the memory he sought almost at once – Morfin had clearly been conjuring it himself at Albus's prompting.

Except… it was _not_ a memory at all. It was mere adaptation – conjecture. A spelled recollection, implanted in this poor man's mind to give him the memory of killing the Muggle family. It might have served for an oral account, but even a poorly skilled Legilimens would have been able to recognise this travesty for what it was, had anyone bothered to investigate further on the night the Ministry had arrested Morfin Gaunt.

So Albus navigated himself farther back, looking for the connection… murmuring under his breath to dispel the false memories… to unlock the cursed portion of the damaged mind… and he paused at last as a young, handsome and familiar wizard materialised in Morfin's recollections.

A teenage Tom Riddle.

Albus pressed carefully forward, feeling for the boundaries of the memory… and he watched the scene.

It appeared as though they were standing in a filthy, tumbledown shack. The Gaunts' home, Albus supposed. Morfin seemed to be its only resident now. Unsurprising, as Voldemort's presence meant of course that Morfin's sister was long since dead and Albus knew Marvolo had died shortly after. The cottage was covered in muck and grime, its ceilings draped with cobwebs. It seemed a wonder anyone could live in such permanent filth.

Morfin was in a patched armchair, a rusty knife clenched in his left hand and his wand held loosely in his right. Though Albus could not smell anything while viewing the memory, the man had the aura of stale drink and many weeks without a bath. He might have been dozing just moments before, but he clamoured to his feet as Tom Riddle came sweeping through a low door into the room.

This was a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle, with the sharp cheekbones and dark eyes that had sent so many to tittering in his years at the castle. He appeared unimpressed with the state of the Gaunt home, gazing around the room with distain evident in his expression. His eyes found his uncle as Morfin gained his feet. Several empty bottles of drink rolled away across the floor.

Morfin spoke first.

'YOU!' the man bellowed, brandishing both wand and knife as he stumbled toward his nephew. 'YOU!'

' _Stop._ '

Tom's command was a hiss, but Albus understood the language. He could not speak Parseltongue, but he had studied it extensively since the events of the previous term. Having rather a great gift for extraordinary languages, he had become proficient enough by now to understand the odd conversation now taking place before him.

He watched as the drunken Morfin Gaunt and Tom Riddle sized each other up… as Morfin confused Tom Riddle with the Muggle who was his father… as Riddle made the connection in his own mind. Riddle was looking for Marvolo, it seemed. Albus could read his disappointment as he learned his grandfather was dead, and his disgust when Morfin connected this young wizard with Tom Riddle Snr.

And there was a ring… black-stoned and crudely wrought, set in a band of gold. Albus had caught only a flash of it as Morfin raised a hand to push aside his dirty hair. It did not appear, in his quick glance, particularly distinctive. But this must be the ring that Morfin lamented.

' _He come back, see,_ ' Morfin was hissing at Tom.

Tom's eyes sharpened as he stepped closer to his uncle. ' _Riddle came back_?'

' _Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marring filth_!' Morfin replied, spitting derisively on the dirty floor. ' _Robbed us, mind, before she ran off… Where's the locket, eh? Where's Slytherin's locket_?'

Albus felt his heart begin to pound.

 _Slytherin's locket…_ What had the woman done with it, when she'd fled the cottage? Had Voldemort discovered it? He would have searched it out, Albus knew, if it could be found… would have hunted the artefact. He knew by now of the Slytherin line… knew of the connection. This was summer 1943 – Tom had already opened the Chamber; had already got Hagrid expelled.

Was already a murderer.

Albus did not see the diary on Tom Riddle's person. But that meant little, of course.

Riddle was still watching his uncle rant in Parseltongue, a gleam of contemplation in his dark eyes. He did not break the man's stride.

' _… Little slut_!' Morfin roared. ' _And who're you, coming here and asking questions bout all that? It's over, innit… it's over…_ '

He staggered, and Tom Riddle smiled. A cold, cruel smile that Albus recognised. He drew his wand from the folds of his cloak, coming slowly toward Morfin Gaunt. The flickering candle on the floor and Voldemort's own lamp both extinguished themselves as he advanced. And the memory faded to black – to nothingness.

Albus pushed past the false implantation this time, already knowing what he would see as the scene began to focus again. Tom Riddle Snr and his parents flopped lifeless in fast-forward, but Albus continued through to the odd blackness once more… searching for the reformation of conscious thought. He watched as the Ministry wizards arrived, as Morfin Gaunt gave a full confession that nobody bothered to question.

And they carted him off, unresisting, howling about the ring that had been lost.

Albus pulled himself backward through the churning sea of thought and consciousness. It was a slow, arduous exit. He did not dare move too quickly, afraid that the poor man's body would give out entirely from the long minutes of abuse and repair.

At long last, he found himself back in front of Morfin Gaunt in the physical realm. The man was a bit paler than he'd been before Albus's attack on his mind, but otherwise had hardly moved a fraction. There was a little black spider scaling Morfin's thin arm, winding itself between the folds of his tattered robe. Albus reached out to brush it away.

' _Where's the ring_?' Morfin spat suddenly. It was Parseltongue, this time. Perhaps a holdover from the memory. He seized Albus's arm as the latter made to swat the spider away, clinging to his wrist with surprising strength. The little arachnid took the opportunity to scuttle out of sight.

'Mr Gaunt,' Albus said sadly, bringing his gaze back to the man's face. 'I am afraid I do not –'

' _He'll kill me_ ,' Morfin repeated in his harsh, low hiss. ' _He'll kill me for losing the Peverell ring_.'

Albus froze in his attempt to free his arm, his gaze sharpening as he considered Morfin Gaunt. 'The what?' Albus replied, barely noticing that his own voice too was low and urgent now. 'The _Peverell_ ring? Why do you call it that, Morfin? What have the Peverells to do with it?'

' _He'll kill me_ ,' Morfin repeated yet again. ' _He'll kill me for losing the ring._ '

The Ring… the crudely hewn stone…

 _But, it was not possible… was it?_ Passed down for centuries, in the little Gaunt hovel? One of the Three he had sought, the Three that could make one Master…

 _No._ He cut into his own racing thoughts, forcing himself to clamp down on the sudden rush of long-dead desires.

And yet… Albus had not got a good look at it, in the brief memory scene. He wished he could go back, probe further… but to do so would be dangerous. To himself, as well as the crumpled man before him. Already he could feel the beginnings of exhaustion from the powerful bit of magic it had taken to undo Voldemort's curses in Morfin's mind and search it so thoroughly.

The only time the stone had been visible was that millisecond where Morfin had pushed back his hair… if there had been an indication that the stone was a Hallow, it had been impossible to tell.

 _Set into a ring, though?_ It could not be used that way… could not be turned.

But of course, it made perfect sense. Cadmus, if the old rumours were true, had not wanted the stone to be used. It did not deliver true life; only shadows. Perhaps he had bound it himself – to stop future generations making his own mistake. But it would of course be possible to –

 _NO_. He could not, would not allow himself this line of thought. And it did not matter, did it? It did not matter whether the Ring was the Stone or just some old family heirloom. Perhaps the Peverells _were_ ancestors of the Gaunts… and perhaps they were not. But the ring, whatever it held, had gone. Which meant Voldemort had taken it.

And… done what? Not used it, surely, if indeed it _was_ what Albus suspected it might be. He doubted Tom Riddle would have ever recognised it in any case. And if he had… Albus was sure that Voldemort wielding the power of a Hallow was not something _he_ would have missed. Nor could Tom have been hunting the power of the Three, as he and Gellert had once imagined. For Harry's father had owned the cloak, and there were never whispers of its desire… and, of course, _he_ had had the wand. He'd had it before Riddle had left Hogwarts, in fact, and _after_ he'd apparently acquired the ring.

Had he worn it? Perhaps… Albus could not remember if he'd seen Riddle wear a ring at school. But of course, closely as he'd tried to watch him, he had not been the boy's Head of House or a particular confidant by any stretch. Certainly, he had never worn one when he had emerged reimagined as Lord Voldemort.

So he'd done… what?

Created it a Horcrux, perhaps, as he had the diary? An old and magical object, passed down from a reputable wizarding line… that Tom had stolen for himself… a link to his ancestral prowess…

Had he turned the _Stone_ into a Horcrux, if in fact the Ring contained it?

Albus felt sick at the very thought.

' _He'll kill me_ ,' the old man was still muttering, though his grip on Albus' arm was weakening now. ' _He'll kill me for losing that ring_.'

Albus prised his wrist free gently and reached into a pocket for his watch, still trying to organise his rapidly firing thoughts. He gave the timepiece a cursory glance. He'd been here far longer than he ought… Kingsley would be curious.

'Look at me, Mr Gaunt,' he said quietly to the murmuring prisoner, tilting his chin with one long-fingered hand to encourage him.

He caught the man's gaze again, and pressed the tip of the Elder Wand to his temple, chanting in a low thrum as he drew the memories to the surface. He conjured an empty glass phial in his free hand, and guided the silvery threads inside until the glass was nearly full. Morfin's eyes flickered shut as he finished, and the headmaster eased the emaciated form back onto the threadbare blanket on the floor.

'I shall try,' he promised the sleeping man.

And he swept from the cell.

'Everything alright, headmaster?' Kingsley asked curiously, as Dumbledore re-entered the passageway.

'In a manner of speaking,' the headmaster said. He held out the little phial of memories he'd taken from the prisoner. ' _Gemino_ ,' he muttered tapping the cork with his wand. A second phial popped instantly into existence. Not a perfect replication, but it would suit for this purpose. He held out the copied phial for the Auror, who took it with a puzzled expression.

'That prisoner is innocent of the crime he has been accused,' Albus explained, pocketing the original phial.

'I – pardon?' Shacklebolt stuttered, looking both incredulous and concerned.

'I had reason to believe so prior to my visit,' Albus explained, already heading down the passage, 'And my conversation with Mr Gaunt has confirmed those suspicions. I believe that memory should assist in clearing any confusion with the Ministry. I would ask, please, that you ensure it makes its way through the proper channels. The poor man is nearing the end of his days as it is, and it would be a terrible tragedy should he never see the sunlight again before he passes.'

Kingsley stowed the phial, still frowning. 'You are certain?' he asked, his deep eyes searching the headmaster as they walked back toward the staircase.

'Quite,' Albus said curtly. 'The murders of the Riddle family were committed by Lord Voldemort.'

Kingsley, to Albus's slight surprise and great satisfaction, hardly flinched at the name. But his gaze intensified.

'And how did you come by that information, headmaster?' he asked slowly.

Albus turned onto the steps before answering. 'I was recently on business in the village where the crime occurred,' he said evasively. 'Something I heard from one of the townsfolk made me question the conviction of Morfin Gaunt. He is hardly the first to take the fall where Lord Voldemort has committed the act. And, I fear, he is unlikely to be the last.'

Kingsley paused on the climb, and Albus turned to face him.

'You do not think You Know Who has gone for good?' Kingsley asked, his eyes hard as he considered the headmaster.

'Do you?' Albus challenged instead, surveying Kingsley over his half-moon spectacles.

Kingsley hesitated, darting a glance around the deserted staircase. 'I do not,' he admitted. 'But I fear I am in the minority on that score, even among the Ministry. The business up at the school, the restlessness in London, Sirius Black's escape… I have been an Auror long enough to recognise that these are ominous signs. I fear we will be caught unaware, should the worst happen while so many are blind to the truth.'

Albus smiled slightly, turning back for his climb. 'There is always a place for the minority view, Mr Shacklebolt,' he told him lightly as they continued on their way. 'And I shall show it to you, if the time comes.'

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Bill fingered the letter in his pocket purposefully as he apparated outside the familiar wrought iron gates, with their winged boars atop. He still was unsure what this meeting was all about, but he had neither the nerve nor the inclination to refuse the headmaster's request.

He conjured his patronus almost immediately upon appearing, grateful that Arthur had had the foresight to teach both him and Charlie the spell last Christmas. The osprey kept guard for him, keeping the chill at bay while the gates opened at his touch.

It was quite late already – well past eleven – and the grounds were silent and dark as most of the castle on the hill. Bill made his way up the path he knew so well, though he hadn't been here in more than four years. It felt odd to arrive now, as he opened the great front doors and stepped into the entrance hall. He felt half as though he ought to be skirting the corners, expecting McGonagall or Snape to come billowing down the corridor toward him, set to throw him in detention for breaking curfew.

The sensation was odd.

Shifting his holdall higher in his grip, Bill mounted the winding grand staircase and made his way slowly for the gargoyle on the seventh floor.

'Sugar quill,' he said softly to it.

The gargoyle sprang aside, and Bill stepped onto the moving staircase beyond – spiralling up to the headmaster's quarters. Dumbledore answered on the first knock.

'Enter,' the old man's voice called out.

Bill sidled into the circular office, shutting the door softly behind him.

'Headmaster,' he greeted.

'Ah, Bill,' Dumbledore acknowledged with a smile. 'I thank you so much for making the journey. I do hope it was not too taxing.'

'No, sir, not at all,' Bill assured him. 'I took an international portkey from Cairo to Calais, and a connection from there into Hogsmeade. It was not a long journey. I apparated to the gates from the village. Thank you for the advisory on the Dementors, incidentally. Anyone looking at the records will simply assume I've come to sees family. I told my mother I'd be paying a visit to the Burrow, as I won't be free to do so at Christmas this year. She's beyond thrilled. It won't be suspicious.'

'Excellent,' said Dumbledore with another smile. 'And what of your work colleagues? Will they be concerned, should they call for you at the Burrow before you arrive?'

Bill shook his head, his own smile growing rather roguish. 'I doubt it,' he admitted. 'There is a… er, friend – from Hogwarts – that I sometimes call upon when I visit the UK,' he explained somewhat slyly. 'I expect they'll think I've gone to pay her a visit, if they fail to find me at my parents'.'

'Ah,' said Dumbledore, nodding. His eyes were twinkling now. 'Young love… covers all manner of sins, I suppose.'

Bill laughed. It was odd – again – having such an easy conversation with Albus Dumbledore. The headmaster had always been a presence, of course, while he'd been at Hogwarts; a mentor for them all… someone whose wisdom and guidance could always be counted on. But he was ethereal; out of reach. And Bill could count the number of times he'd been _alone_ with the Dumbledore on less than one hand.

'What did you wish to see me about, sir?' he asked, when the laughter had died down.

Dumbledore's countenance grew more serious. 'Please, sit down,' he invited, gesturing at the comfortable sitting area around the fire as he himself swept out from behind his desk.

Bill frowned slightly, wondering at the sudden change in atmosphere. But he followed Dumbledore's request and perched on the end of one of the long sofas. He set his leather holdall at his feet.

'There is a matter on which I require some assistance,' Dumbledore began, still pinning Bill with his bright blue eyes. 'I apologise for the cryptic missive… but some things are better not said in a letter, even in relatively peaceful times.'

'Of course,' Bill agreed at once. 'I was more than happy to come, sir. Is this to do with…' he hesitated, not sure he should speak of the Order aloud, even here. 'The conversation we had in the summer?' he asked instead.

'In a way,' the headmaster said delicately. 'It is not specifically related to the Order at this time, but I suspect that will be the… eventual result of this effort.'

'Alright…' Bill said, beginning to feel the riddles were growing, rather than diminishing, with this conversation. 'How can I help, sir?'

The headmaster settled into his chair before replying, conjuring a tea service with a wave of his wand to float onto the table in front of them. He gestured that Bill should help himself, and waited until both were armed with fresh, steaming cups before continuing his explanation.

'I have a contact,' the headmaster said. 'On the Continent. He has been assisting me with a project for the past few months, but communication with him is difficult. He cannot travel, you see, and so I must go to him every time we are to connect. And with the situation as it is here, with Sirius Black and with Harry… I am unwilling to be out of the school for any extended length of time. Certainly, I will not be able to go to Germany as often as I may need to. And this is work which should not be delayed.'

Bill nodded, setting the cup in its saucer. 'I can go,' he agreed at once, foreseeing the headmaster's point. 'I'd be glad to, if it'll help. But… I'm not sure I'll be able to go unnoticed,' he admitted. 'The bank does not do much direct work in Germany; as you know, they have an extensive operation of their own. And my branch in particular has never been called in to assist with the German efforts. I'd have to come up with a story to cover any travel questions, but I'm sure I could –'

But he broke off, as the headmaster was shaking his head. 'That will not be necessary,' Dumbledore assured him. 'I have warded the contact's location myself, with a powerful set of spells which will allow you to apparate directly to the place, regardless of international restriction and untraceably. We shall have to visit together to key you to the wards, of course, but in future it should not be a problem for you to travel alone. The enchantment will also allow you to apparate directly to Hogsmeade from his location, should your visit provoke a need for discussion with me. It should be a much easier way to commute than the regular channels.'

'And the distance?' Bill asked, impressed by the idea but still wary. 'I thought apparition was usually limited by physical distance… Germany is quite far from here, and quite a bit farther from Egypt. Many won't even attempt the journey between London and Hogsmeade in one apparition.'

Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling. 'I have taken care of it,' he assured Bill. 'You should have no trouble with physical or magical strain – so long as you travel only to the place I will show you.'

Bill nodded, slowly. He was frowning as he contemplated the odd set of circumstances. 'Pardon, sir, but… why me?' he asked bluntly. 'Not that I'm not happy to assist,' he added quickly. 'But… it seems a fairly high-security operation. You're certain you wouldn't rather someone with more experience handle it? I'm sure my father, or one of the teachers…'

Dumbledore was shaking his head again. 'The other professors are nearly as busy as myself,' he said. 'And the Ministry is in uproar at the moment… nor do I think it a particularly wise idea to expose your father – or anyone working at the Ministry, for that matter – to the delicate task I must ask. It would not do to provoke any suspicion.'

He refilled his teacup and gestured politely toward Bill's. Bill nodded in thanks, and the headmaster freshened his as well.

'But the main reason I think _you_ would be a particularly capable alternative, Bill, is because of what you do,' Albus explained, setting the china pot down again.

'What, curse-breaking?' said Bill in surprise, dropping a slice of lemon into the cup.

Dumbledore chuckled. 'No,' he clarified. 'Consorting with goblins.'

Bill paused, lemon tongs still raised. 'Your contact is a goblin?' he asked in surprise. 'Headmaster, I – er – I'm sure you know already… but goblins are notoriously underhanded. They can't help it – it's in their nature. They are suspicious even of the best-intentioned wizards… and they believe you should be _expecting_ duplicity. Even as someone who works with them regularly, I'm not sure I would trust myself to handle top secret communications where the situation rested on the goblin's discretion. They are too likely to sell out to a higher bidder.'

The headmaster nodded, but he was smiling again. 'Perfectly true,' he agreed. 'But you misunderstand me. The man I wish to introduce to you is a wizard, not a goblin. But goblins are natural legilimens, are they not?'

Bill's brow furrowed. 'Yes…' he said slowly. 'It is a power they are born with, to some degree. They hone it over time. It's a point of goblin pride, particularly as they can practise Legilimency wandlessly. It's why they hold such distain for wizard attempts at trickery, and why they consider themselves cleverer than most of our kind.'

'Precisely,' the headmaster said with another nod. 'And so, I imagine you were trained in Occlumency, before they sent you into the field.'

'Yes, sir,' Bill agreed. 'The curse-breakers, the appraisers and the traders are all required to learn it. I studied it for nearly six months and sat an exam before they'd allow me into the tombs, and we're all required to keep up with the practise throughout our employment with Gringotts.'

'And that is why you are the perfect wizard to assist with this mission,' Dumbledore explained. 'For the man I intend to acquaint you with is one of the most accomplished Legilimens in the world, and I would rather not risk that he may take advantage of you. Your job will be to act as my liaison, when I cannot travel to Germany myself, and to assist the pair of us with our research. I will not pretend it is an easy assignment. He is a brilliant mind and an invaluable resource, but you will find him difficult, at times. And you must never, ever trust him.'

Bill felt suddenly nervous. He almost didn't want the answer to his next question… but he knew he had to ask it. 'And who is it that you want me to meet, headmaster?'

Albus Dumbledore was no longer smiling. His blue eyes were very serious as he held Bill's gaze. And Bill knew what his answer would be, even before he spoke.

'Gellert Grindelwald.'

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 **Review Responses: Chapter 27**

 **TL-Deception** : Thank you for your review! I'm very happy to hear you're enjoying the story so much, and thank you for your continued support throughout this journey! I'm not sure if you read my responses after you've read the chapter or before… but this instalment should answer your queries on Dumbledore's and Minerva's responses. :) I hope you like where we travel next!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you appreciate the mad rush of updates this month. Yes… R.I.P. Nimbus 2000. Poor Harry… it _really_ wasn't a very nice week, was it? But never fear – things will improve eventually! And I am happy you caught that little Albus gem snuck in that penultimate sentence of his viewpoint… as the headmaster is always reminding us, Love creates the most powerful magics of all. Enjoy the next instalment!

 **Discodancepant** : Thank you for your review! I'm glad you are enjoying the story. To answer your concern, I'm not sure I agree, in full… Harry _is_ Harry – the core of his personality is not going to change, at least in my re-envisioning of his story. His flaws: the anger, the often reckless action, are a part of who he is and a product of ten years spent at the Dursleys' home, and though some of it will be tempered (and has been, already) through his new environment and better influences, it won't disappear entirely. I'm not sure I see the laziness, per se… but perhaps that is just my personal opinion. That said, I think he has grown and shown maturing abilities in many places: going to Snape following Dumbledore's instruction at the end of the last book, his actions and reactions in Godric's Hollow, his evolving relationship with Albus and Minerva… all are reflective of his growth, or are – in my opinion – supposed to be. It isn't an overnight fix, of course… and Harry has only been with Albus a bit over a year at this point. And he is, of course, still very much a child – though at thirteen is caught in that awkward space between true childhood and adolescence. This story is very much on a vector, and the alterations to Harry (and to the others) that stem from his presence will be gradual and incremental: organic, like most major changes in the real world. We have seen more, in Part II, than we did in Part I. We will continue to see it develop as the story moves forward. But there won't be a fundamental alteration in who Harry is… nor any of the other characters' essential nature. I hope this makes some sense. I agree with you that who a person becomes who they ought to be through a combination of self, genetics _and_ environmental factors. And all will play a role in Harry's growth. Enjoy the continuation!

 **Leonore** : Thanks for reviewing and for your continued support! I'm very happy to hear you're still enjoying the story so much. Yes, this chapter was heavier on 'internal dialogue' than overt in parts – mainly because I very much wanted to explore the psyches of Remus and Severus, and the unresolvable dichotomy that has been created by Sirius – not only in his entrance to the castle, but really in his betrayal (allegedly) of the Order. I think his character causes both Remus and Severus to engage in some difficult self-reflection, though of course for different reasons. And Alastor! Yes, I love him and was quite excited that he had a bit part to play this chapter. He _was_ referring to Tonks – excellent catch.

Albus… yes, bit of a cutesy moment here in the midst of panic. It isn't the first time he's indicated how deeply he loves Harry, or that he is in many ways his world… but it is the first time we hear him apply the title in so many words. And then of course, there is Harry. Poor Harry – who really can't catch a break this week. Snape does take a misplaced view of Remus… but it actually comes, through all its rancour, from a place of true concern. Of course, it is (as Harry says) a voiced opinion of exactly those things which Harry has been fearing. Like Remus himself, Harry has a deep-seated recognition and appreciation for loneliness and rejection that rears its ugly head in this chapter. But, of course, Snape's command does _not_ stem from Dumbledore… so we'll see how that plays out should the headmaster become aware of it. Hopefully, you'll find Chapter 28 sufficiently uplifting as to make Harry's lot a bit easier. Happy Christmas to you and yours as well, and enjoy the next chapter!

 **AlsoKnownAsMatt** : Thank you for your review! Yes, I agree that with word limits it would be difficult to show as much internal dialogue, but luckily that is not something I have to contend with, and it _is_ something I found I wanted to explore, particularly in parts of the book where the canon events are more prominent. Harry's thoughts on Remus might have seemed a bit lengthy here – and perhaps I should have trimmed them… but they are important fodder for the next arc in Harry and Remus's story, as hopefully will come to light in future instalments. And yes, while this series is a vector from canon in some ways, and largely expands on the canon tale, it is a canon-based project and a lot of the canon major events will occur and be followed. I've definitely asserted that this re-telling will explore on a vector the effects of the changes on our characters and the over-arching story, but it's definitely not a project I've ever claimed to be completely AU or canon-divergent. I have retold less, in this instalment, than in the previous one (usually it's been summarised, as I hope by now readers will have read Part I and developed some trust in the direction of the story), but there are parts where I feel for my characters the event must be explored in more detail, though usually from a different perspective or for a specific purpose. However, it is certainly true that the changes in some portions of the story – and this chapter would be an example – are more subtle than in other places. Sometimes it will be events that alter; sometimes it will be reactions; sometimes it will be perspectives… sometimes it will be a merge of all three, depending on what I've felt is necessary for the overall direction I'm hoping to move the story and for the characters' development. That was a long and rambling answer… but I hope it made some sense!

On Snape/Dumbledore… I don't think they've forgotten _muffliato_ at all. I rather felt, writing it, that Snape doesn't cast the charm (or another protection) because he sees Dumbledore has not – something that annoys him, but a decision he's forced to accept. Dumbledore… we don't have this from his perspective, but in my mind he made the deliberate choice _not_ to protect the conversation as to deter Severus going down precisely this path: he knows Snape, after all, quite as well as Severus knows Albus in turn. Of course, Snape tries to pursue his ends anyway – though ultimately unsuccessfully. Minerva – haha, I think you're right, she probably _could_ have said that and been spot on. Harry doesn't exactly say he's 13… but he's certainly acting a bit whingy when he's perfectly aware of why everyone is upset and anxious. Perhaps she's a bit indulgent because she feels badly; perhaps it is merely because she is too distracted with her own worry to snap at him… but she is firm, in any case.

Very happy you liked the Harry/Snape interaction and the Remus POV. The tension is heightening on all three fronts. And Remus, in particular… it's an odd dilemma that I've wanted to explore ever since reading POA the first time through. _Why_ doesn't he tell Albus? It's odd, if you think about it… especially as even in canon he clearly feels more for Harry than a teacher-pupil connection. I hope my explanation of his thoughts made sense here: I do feel, at the base of it all, that Remus has a deep-seated sense of loneliness and fear of rejection that drives him to rationalise his secrecy even at the expense, perhaps, of sense. And you're right: sometimes things we do in childhood or early adulthood seem innocent or fine at the time… but later, we recognise the foolishness or danger in our actions. I think it is true for everyone, to some degree. But Remus, of course, has bigger, darker secrets than most.

I hope you like the next instalment!

 **AECM** : Thank you for reviewing! Very glad to hear you are still loving the story, and I hope the speedy update will be enjoyable for you. Happy reading for Chapter 28!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for your review! Yes… Sirius' break-in has officially occurred, and sent ripples through the thoughts of all our characters. Seeds of doubt… interesting. _Is_ it doubt, quite yet? Or is it incongruity… certainly, it has Severus' brain churning in an unhappy cycle of being unable to reconcile the many sides of Sirius Black – and that will have consequences in future. And Remus – yes, he's being quite maddening. Yet you can see his dilemma; he's very much a broken man. He's lived in isolation so long – then had ten years' respite with his friends – only to watch that get dashed upon the floor with the death of two and betrayal by the third. He's damaged, and self-deprecating, and the events of Hallowe'en drag all that back to the forefront for him. I don't think he's immune to the cost his distance will have for Harry, but he has convinced himself it's for the best, in the long run. But never fear – there are people who can force him to see sense! I hope you like Chapter 28!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thank you for your wonderful review! I'm very happy you like Godric's Hollow so much! Albus and Harry at their respective family graves and the conversation that came after was quite difficult to write, to be honest… not the words; those came fairly easily. But from an emotional standpoint, it took me a while to finish it. Also glad that you liked the fantastic beast integration. We'll have more on that point for sure – including Albus (at some point) explaining an Obscurus in more detail to Harry. I believe he thinks the actual term to himself during their conversation, but he doesn't quite get detailed on that point with Harry or tell him what her affliction is called (although he uses 'obscures,' as a double entendre verb, in his explanation of what the war within the magical core does to the magic). Harry definitely would not have a way to know what an Obscurus or Obscurial is, unless someone tells him. Batty – I loved her too! I hope they'll be a chance to put a bit more of her into the story at some point. To answer your query on her age, she'd be at least 130, by my reckoning, as she was already an established adult when Albus moved to Godric's Hollow and Dumbledore is 112 at 'present' time in our story (born in 1881). So she's quite old, even by wizarding standards.

Sirius… yes, he does know Remus is at the castle (he saw him a couple of times, which he reflects on in Chapter 22, I think). But it is a dilemma for certain – as Sirius chews on and then Remus does in Chapter 27. For Sirius, of course, it's a question of whether or not he's willing to gamble on how well he knows his old friend… for Remus, the debate is really about rejection and trust.

Chapter 27… Ooh, I'm glad you've brought up 'detention'! Yes, yes yes – we will _definitely_ be seeing another soon. As soon as next chapter, in fact. And they'll be continuation/fall-out from the Harry-Severus conversation too.

 **Guest** : Thank you for reviewing! Very glad you liked the chapter, and the title. I feel there's been a lot of action in this particular book, but I do want to also include the different viewpoints of canon events and the exploration of the character's thoughts and personalities, so I am glad you're liking that. Very flattered that you consider it so in sync to JKR's style! That's definitely a goal of mine. I hope you like the next chapter!


	29. Secrets and Lies

**A/N:** Another day – another chapter. I am doing my best to keep the updates prompt at the moment, as I am on holiday. Hopefully this is a treat for readers!

Note – this is Harry and Remus focused… I'm afraid everyone will have to wait until next time for the conclusion of the drama with Albus, Gellert and Bill; it was just too long for one chapter! :)

Enjoy 'Secrets and Lies' – and **please** read and review! (I know writers always harp on this – and I shan't ever hold out on posting updates because I want more reviews… but it really does help encourage the process!)

Happy New Year!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 29: Secrets and Lies**

Harry had another difficult week following his convalescence.

As he'd feared, the entire school had witnessed his disgrace on the Quidditch pitch. Most of his own House were commiserating and supportive, but the Slytherins were not nearly so understanding. Draco Malfoy had finally shed his false bandages in celebration, and did not lose opportunity to taunt him in every lesson they shared. He only quit on Wednesday morning, when Professor Vector caught him throwing a valiant fainting impression and docked twenty points from Slytherin before setting him the next equation on the board. Wood's disappointment was clear, even while he attempted to talk bracingly of their chances for redemption, and it made Harry feel doubly anxious not only over the loss of the match, but also for the destruction of his beloved broomstick.

The Grim, meanwhile, continued to prey on Harry's mind. Though Dumbledore had tried to ease his concern, Harry _knew_ he hadn't imagined the dog. He did not mention its appearance to Ron or Hermione, because he did not want to watch Ron's panic or Hermione's dismissal. But he could not help but feel this was the second time it had appeared… and the second time there had been near-fatal consequences. Perhaps Professor Trelawney had been right, after all.

And when he wasn't thinking about the Grim, Harry was kept awake at night with thoughts of the Dementors. He _hated_ them, and he _hated_ how powerless he always became when they were too near. He wanted more than anything to go to Remus about them – to beg him to resume their lessons, so that he could master the Patronus once and for all.

But Remus was as distant as ever. He had not come to the headmaster's quarters while Harry had stayed there the week-end, and he had not sent a note or any other inquiry to check in on him. Harry thought Remus' gaze had lingered on him longer than usual in their lesson on the Hinkypunk on Monday… but he had hurried from the room before Harry could catch him again, and Harry had decided that perhaps he was imagining things.

By Wednesday evening, Harry was thoroughly fed up once again with his lot. He could not get Draco Malfoy's taunts out of his head, try as he might; he hadn't yet been able to face ordering a new broom to replace his beloved Nimbus; and he was pretty sure his Arithmancy work was absolute rubbish, operating as he was on almost no sleep.

'I'll look it over for you, if you want,' Hermione offered kindly, watching Harry push the huge Arithmancy tome wearily out of reach and pull the equally large Defence book toward himself in its stead as they sat at a table in the Common Room late in the night.

'Would you?' asked Harry, elated. 'Thanks loads, Hermione,' he said gratefully, passing his scroll of equations to her more capable hands.

'What are you doing Defence for?' Ron asked in surprise, watching Harry leaf through the volume. He, Harry noticed, was flicking carelessly through Divination, apparently searching for ideas to complete his fire omens assignment. 'Lupin hasn't set us anything this week.'

'Snape's,' Harry said, a little bitterly.

The class had all received curt notices late on Sunday evening from Professor Snape, cancelling the assigned essay he'd forced on them the previous Friday. Most of the students had greeted this message with decided relief – none of them having schemed to do anything anyway until they'd voiced their thoughts on the injustice to Professor Lupin in their lesson on Monday. Harry, however, knew that Snape would be expecting his regardless. And even with Dumbledore's assurance over the week-end that he need not complete the assignment, he wouldn't put it past the Potions Master to give him actual detention all Thursday evening if he showed up without it done.

Ron muttered an expletive that made Hermione send him a stern look, but was distracted almost at once by the appearance of Crookshanks, who had taken their conversation for a perfect opportunity to attack Ron's shoulder bag and the sleeping rat in the front pocket. Ron aimed a kick at the cat that missed but caused a minor row with Hermione, then stalked off to stow Scabbers upstairs in a bit of a temper.

'Harry,' Hermione said in a whisper, turning to face him when Ron had ducked up the stairs. 'Listen, come and find me when you've done the essay, alright?' she asked, looking nervous.

Harry stared. 'Why?' he said, suspicious. 'You haven't got to do it. I'm sure Remus will cover it with us later in the –'

'I've already done it,' Hermione said quickly, biting her lip. 'And I… oh, just promise you'll find me after?'

'Er – right,' Harry agreed, still bewildered.

He wanted to press the point, but Ron stormed back into the Common Room at that moment, throwing himself back into his seat with a snort. Hermione gave Harry a quick shake of the head, and buried her nose in a book on Ancient Runes before he could ask anything further.

Harry flicked through the final chapter of the Defence book, looking for the information on spotting and identifying werewolves. He was still reading, eyes beginning to glaze and sentences repeating, when the other two at last bid him goodnight and headed off to bed. Hermione gave him a meaningful look as she tapped his arm in farewell.

 _A werewolf, or lycanthrope, is a human who becomes infected with lycanthropy, causing a physical transformation upon the complete rising of the full moon into a deadly near-wolf. Both wizards and Muggles can be turned, though the condition is more common in magical beings (in part because Muggle medicine cannot often save victims from a werewolf attack)._

 _The werewolf is quite similar in appearance to the true wolf, though there are several minor distinctions which can distinguish the werewolf to the trained eye. Werewolves possess shorter snouts than the true wolf, a tufted tail, and retain their human eyes whilst in wolf form. Moreover, the werewolf is possessed of a manic bloodlust for human prey during the time of the full moon, whereas most true wolves will eschew humans whenever possible._

 _Werewolf bites should be treated with powdered silver and dittany, applied to a fresh wound to seal it. Scarring is inevitable and permanent. The bite of the werewolf received while the creature is in wolf form will cause infection in 100% of cases where the victim survives his or her attack, as the contact of saliva with blood creates an instant magical bond._

 _Lycanthropy has no known cure. The Wolfsbane Potion, invented by Damocles in 1982 and taken in the week preceding the full moon, will allow a transformed human to keep his or her mind during the transformation; a significant feat, as prior to its invention werewolves had no control over their actions when transformed. Though the werewolf will recall memories of his or her transformation, the mind belongs entirely to the monster during the hours of full moon._

 _Humans infected with lycanthropy often show visible signs of the affliction even while the moon is not full. Monthly transformations are quite painful, particularly if left untreated, and afflicted persons will usually suffer several days of ill health and pallor preceding and succeeding the full moon. Werewolves who are forcibly separated from possible victims during the cycle (except those under the influence of Wolfsbane) will injure themselves instead, often leaving the lycanthrope with scarring or premature signs of aging._

 _Despite Muggle rumour to the contrary and its efficacy in sealing werewolf bites, werewolves cannot be killed or harmed by silver in their wolf or human forms._

Harry sighed, exhausted as he finished the passage. Slowly, he began to copy out the important sentences into an essay, trying to make it semi-coherent. It was well past 2 o'clock in the morning when his candle finally burned down to the stub, and Harry decided to finish the essay in the morning.

He trudged up the stairs and collapsed, fully clothed, on top of the covers. But as he dreamed, odd flashes of the passage began to replay in his mind.

 _The Wolfsbane Potion… taken in the week preceding Full Moon…_

 _Several days of ill health… preceding and succeeding…_

 _Premature signs of aging…_

Despite his late night, Harry's eyes snapped open at half six, his heart pounding as if he'd just run a marathon, and the answer solidifying in his brain.

No… it wasn't possible.

 _Was it?_

He hauled himself off the bed and into the shower, trying to work out his own thoughts. The first thing he noticed on re-entering the dormitory was a bushy-haired ginger cat slinking across the carpet.

'Crookshanks,' Harry growled, diving to catch the animal before he could take a flying leap onto Ron's bed. But his ire at the determined cat was perfunctory. 'Does that mean Hermione's up?' he asked the disgruntled animal.

He flipped Crookshanks around in his arms and tiptoed downstairs with his trainers in one hand and his hair still dripping. Hermione was seated on the one of the comfortable armchairs, her face pale and her arms for once devoid of books. Harry knew immediately from her expression that she'd got up specially to meet him – that she'd expected him to have worked it out by now.

'So…' she said, eyes wide and voice naught but a whisper despite the deserted room. 'Did you finish the essay?'

Harry flung himself into the chair opposite, almost afraid to voice his thoughts. 'Enough of it,' he confirmed in a low grunt.

'And do you think he's –'

'Don't, Hermione, not aloud,' Harry said, darting a panicked look around the empty Common Room.

'Alright, but _do_ you?' she pressed, leaning forward a little so their knees were almost touching.

Harry forced his eyes to meet hers, wishing he could return a different answer.

'Yes,' he confirmed, jaw set. 'It makes sense – all of it. That's why he's been out for lessons, why Snape's been substituting. It's why he's ill at such regular intervals.'

Hermione nodded, looking caught between horror and scholarly appreciation. 'And I've checked, Harry – the moon was full that night you left your aunt and uncle's, when you said he had to go away. _And_ it was again right before term started – and remember how dreadful he looked on the Express?'

Harry nodded grimly. 'There was potion too,' he recollected. 'He took it every day while we were at the Dursleys – the week preceding the full moon. And he told me himself the potion helped, but it wasn't a cure. And even Snape called it a "monthly affliction," when he was bullying me into doing the essay.'

'It makes perfect sense,' Hermione said in a rush. ' _Perfect_. You remember the boggart lesson? I thought his was a crystal ball – like he was afraid of prophecy or something… but it was the _full moon_. His greatest fear must be his impending transformation.'

'Not surprising, considering, is it?' Harry said seriously. 'When you read all that horrible stuff?'

'Not surprising he made Snape cancel the assignment,' Hermione noted, shaking her head. 'I suppose he wouldn't have wanted us _all_ figuring it out.'

'He didn't,' Harry said, remembering suddenly. 'Make Snape cancel, I mean. That was Dumbledore's idea, I reckon. He looked furious when I brought it up at all. He knows – I'll bet the whole staff does. Remus told me Dumbledore knew everything about his illness when he was debating taking the job. I reckon this was why he was worried in the first place… didn't know what the students would say, or the parents, if he was found out.'

Hermione bit her lip. 'Do…' she glanced around again, warily, 'Do you think we should tell the others?' she asked in a small voice. 'I mean… it _is_ a big deal, Harry. This isn't like having an odd skin ailment or bad asthma… this is a serious, _serious_ disease. And it's dangerous. Somebody could be –'

'No,' said Harry, stubbornly. 'No, Hermione. That's what Snape wants. He did this on purpose, hoping someone would put the pieces together and get Remus into trouble… he _hates_ him. But Remus… he doesn't deserve it.' _Whatever he's been like lately_ , a small, bitter voice added in his head. 'Dumbledore knows already. The staff too, probably. There's no point dragging it all out.'

Hermione looked mildly relieved he'd taken this view on things. She leaned back, relaxing into the chair for the first time that morning. The sun was beginning to rise through the mullioned windows now, casting scarlet and gold glares over both their faces. The light caught in her hair, making it look more auburn than her usual deep brown. Harry had never noticed the highlights before. He was tired again, with the excess of adrenaline and discovery fading.

He yawned widely.

'You look done in,' Hermione noted, peering at him. 'How late were you up?'

'Dunno,' Harry admitted, shrugging as he wiped at the sleep caught in the corners of his eyes. 'Past two, for sure.' She opened her mouth as if to comment, but Harry held up a finger. 'Don't lecture, please,' he begged her. 'I know I ought to get more done on week-ends, but –'

'I wasn't going to,' Hermione said, looking miffed. 'I was just going to suggest you kip an hour or so before breakfast, as it's still so early. You won't be much use in Herbology like this.'

Harry nodded, getting to his feet again. 'Sorry,' he muttered, feeling a little guilty for his prejudice.

Hermione waved him off impatiently, gathering Crookshanks from the floor.

'Hermione?' Harry called, turning at the foot of the stairs. She paused, frowning at him over the cat's thick fur. 'Don't tell anyone. Promise?'

'Promise,' she assured him, with half a smile.

And Harry shuffled off back up the stairs, forgetting his trainers by the fire.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The knock on the door came precisely at 8 o'clock.

'Enter,' Severus called, leaning against the edge of his desk.

Potter pushed through the door, looking tired and wary. His left hand was tightly clenched around a furled scroll of parchment. The professor held out his own, palm up.

But the boy didn't move.

'Your essay, Potter,' Severus said silkily, hand still out. 'And there had better be a second scroll wrapped up in the one your holding, unless you wish to lose thirty points before we even get started tonight.'

Potter shut the classroom door, but he pressed the scroll tighter to his chest. He frowned at the Potions Master.

'The others had it cancelled,' he noted, running his thumb over the rounded edge of the parchment. 'But I was pretty sure you'd still make me do it, sir.'

'A stroke of sagacity which both astounds and satisfies me, I assure you,' Severus said sarcastically. 'Pass it over.'

Still, Potter did not move. He looked down at the thick scroll, still frowning deeply.

'So this is why you don't trust him…' he said, almost to himself. 'It was a nasty trick, you know, going behind his back like that. Why didn't you just _tell_ me, if you wanted me to know so badly, sir?'

Severus glared, his temper boiling at once. 'I assigned you the essay, you oblivious brat, because if you are simply _told_ information every time you show dim-wittedness, you will never _learn_ to be resourceful!'

This, of course, was not strictly true. But it sounded perfectly rational when he said it, and Severus congratulated himself inwardly on the excellent explanation.

After all, Potter wasn't to know about his battles with the headmaster.

'I'm resourceful!' Potter sniped back, looking stung. 'I worked out that business with the Philosopher's Stone on my own, didn't I? _And_ all the stuff with the Chamber of Secrets last year. I mean, alright, Ron and Hermione helped a bit, and Hagrid, but still –'

'If you think you are making a case for confiding more sensitive information in you directly,' Severus interrupted, sneering, 'I must tell you the grave grows deeper with every word out of your mouth, Potter.'

The boy shut it, grinding his teeth in temper. Severus smirked in satisfaction.

'Pass it over,' he repeated.

And at last Potter did, pushing the essay roughly into the professor's hand. Severus undid the fastening with a snap of his fingers.

Two scrolls. Good.

'So,' he said, laying the essay on the desk and crossing his arms as he considered Potter. 'Locking and unlocking charms. Useful and necessary, should you find yourself in a captive situation, as we all know you have been alre-'

'What, no!' Potter interrupted, looking up from where he'd still been frowning at the essay the professor had set aside. 'We're not even going to _talk_ about this, sir?'

Severus' eyes flashed. 'Ten points for impertinence!' he barked. 'You know better than to interrupt me.'

The boy scowled right back. 'That's not fair!' he complained. 'You trick me into doing this assignment, sir, because you know it'll make me realise Remus is a… a werewolf. Then you're not even going to _talk_ about it?'

'I am not playing twenty questions with you today, Potter,' Severus snapped. 'I have rather more important things to do with my own time, and we have exactly ninety minutes remaining in this tutorial. You did the essay, you ought to know the pertinent information now. I assure you that if you wish to be tested on the material, I would be _more_ than happy to compose a written exam for our next meeting.'

'But that's not –'

'Potter, I swear – if you whinge one more time in my presence, you will _wish_ I'd leave you to the werewolf at the next Full Moon.'

They glared at each other, neither speaking, for thirty full seconds. Then Severus, cursing himself, realised with a surge of annoyance that Potter would be next to useless with the task he intended to assign him in this state.

Or, worse… he might go to the Werewolf for answers instead.

'Three,' he said curtly.

'What?' Potter asked stupidly.

'You may ask _three_ questions, Potter,' Severus clarified. 'And then we will close this subject entirely, and return to the lesson. Do you understand?'

'Yes,' Potter agreed quickly, with the ghost of a grin. 'Thank you, sir.'

Severus rolled his eyes. He crossed his arms, waiting.

'When was Remus turned into a werewolf?' Potter asked, watching him closely.

'I have no idea, nor do I have a desire to know,' Severus said impassively. 'Sometime during his childhood. Before he started at Hogwarts.'

Potter frowned, apparently thinking. 'The book said that potion – the Wolfsbane – it wasn't invented until 1982,' he noted.

'Correct,' Severus confirmed. 'And not a question.'

'I'm getting there,' Potter grumbled. 'I just meant… how'd he come to Hogwarts then, if it wasn't available until he got out of school? Wouldn't that have been dangerous, having a werewolf here that couldn't keep his mind?'

'Extremely,' Severus said with a bit of a snarl. 'Dangerous, and reckless.' He pinched the bridge of his nose between a forefinger and thumb, forcing down the bile and temper. 'The headmaster, however, took precautions to protect the school. A sanctuary of sorts was arranged, where the werewolf would be able to transform during the monthly cycles but – theoretically – would not be able to escape and attack anyone. The entire affair was conducted in secret, and students were not told of the werewolf's presence.'

Potter nodded slowly. 'How'd _you_ find out then, sir? Did you not known until he got here this summer, or had you figured it –'

'Next question,' Severus said firmly, over the end of Potter's sentence.

'But you said three!' Potter reminded him. 'That's my third, sir.'

'I said you get three questions, not that I would give three answers. I'm giving you a fourth. Ask, or don't, but this is the end of the discussion either way.'

Potter scowled, but he knew better than to push his luck.

'Fine,' he agreed. 'Do you make the Wolfsbane, then?'

Severus cocked his head, considering. It was an odd choice of query… he would have expected 'Has he ever killed anyone?' or 'Where does he go at the full moon?' or even – though he never would have answered – 'Why does it make you hate him so much?'

 _Why did he care about the potion?_

'Yes,' he admitted, after a short pause. 'At the headmaster's request.'

Potter nodded, apparently satisfied. Severus pushed off the desk.

'To work,' he said, sweeping his arm once around the room so that the worktables zoomed up against the walls. (Potter nearly fell to his bum at this, having been leaning against one at the time.) With his wand, Severus conjured what appeared to be a large, silver chest.

Potter stared.

'Locking and unlocking,' Severus repeated, tapping the shining cover of the chest. 'There are six chests, encased in one another. Each has been sealed with a different lock. Some have Muggle fastenings, and some have been magically closed. Your task is to open each – wandlessly, of course. Then you will seal them once more, in order, again using wandless magic. I would prefer you to complete the assignment nonverbally, but as it seems you still struggle with that portion of our training –' he gave Potter a mocking smirk – 'I suppose I shall have to suffer the shouting for now. Begin.'

The first few chests were fairly successful – unsurprising, as these were those which had been Muggle-locked, and Severus knew Potter had already shown a proclivity for escaping Muggle confines while living at Petunia's. The fourth was more difficult, but eventually Potter's ' _Alohomora!_ ' was strong enough to break the spell.

It was growing easier, Severus noticed, for Potter to access his Magical Core on command – easier to master the initial connection that they had struggled so hard to enable over the summer. He still had difficulty with anything that resembled subtlety, and he could not seem to grasp the power of focus over brute force… but it was progress nonetheless. Impressive progress, Severus admitted grudgingly (and quite silently), for one so young and still years from magical maturity.

On the fifth, Potter gave seven attempts before Severus called a halt, watching the strain break a sweat across the boy's forehead and his hands begin to shake.

'Water, Potter,' Severus said curtly, conjuring a glass and pushing a chair toward the quaking boy. Potter sank into it gratefully, gulping the drink as his breathing evened out.

They'd been pushing a bit farther each time – gradually stretching and honing Potter's Core as he grew both physically and magically. It was always a risky process, no matter how methodical Severus tried to be. Magical Cores were too nebulous and unique to create a precise equation… to know when you'd pushed too much. He had to watch Potter for the signs; and they were slightly different every time. Magical Exhaustion meant they'd have to take a break from the lessons again.

And every week, Severus knew, the Dark Lord's return could be closer. Time was a luxury they could not count on.

'You are putting too much behind the spell,' Severus accused, fingering the boy's wrist to check that his pulse was stabilising. 'And it is the _wrong_ spell, for this chest. You should have recognised _that_ by your third attempt.'

Potter allowed the ministration begrudgingly, but he glared as Severus released him, refilled the water with a wave of his hand, and stepped back.

'What do you mean, it's the _wrong_ spell, sir?' Potter asked with a frown. 'You said to unlock the chest. That's what I was –'

'You were using the same spell you'd applied to the past two, _Alohomora_ ,' Snape explained impatiently. 'A simple unlocking charm. Effective against the simple magical locking spell or Muggle barriers. Useless where a wizard casts the relatively easy Anti-Alohomora charm, or uses a stronger magical sealing spell. You will have to branch out, Potter.'

Potter was still frowning. 'I don't know any others,' he admitted after a moment.

Severus crossed his arms. 'Then I suggest you practise your _resourcefulness_ ,' he said, 'And do some research between now and next lesson. We will tackle this project again at that time.'

The boy heaved a sigh, but wisely did not attempt to argue. 'Do you want me to seal these up, sir?' he asked, indicating the four chests he'd managed to open.

Severus considered him for a moment. 'Do two,' he decided. 'You may finish the remainder with your wand.'

It was a good decision. Unlocking was more based in force than finesse – a task that catered to Potter's strengths. Locking charms, on the other hand, were far more delicate. It took Potter eight attempts to successfully finish the first, and he was visibly shaking again by the time the second had been sealed. His wand gave a shower of sparks when Potter at last retrieved it from its place on the desk, sighing gratefully, and muttered ' _Colloportus!'_ to complete the stack.

Severus nodded once, satisfied enough. He let Potter catch his breath in the chair again while he waved his own wand around the room, rearranging the furniture and banishing the chests. Then he retrieved a phial of Invigoration Draught and refilled Potter's glass of water.

'The potion _then_ the water, Potter,' he said, pushing both at the boy.

He followed the order without complaint. This was another part of the lessons Severus had made near to routine by now; the Invigoration Draught always reduced the chance of magical complications… and it kept Minerva from poisoning his tea if Potter showed up a disaster the following morning.

'Shall I take this back then?' Potter asked, reaching for the essay on the Potions Master's desk after he'd finished the potion and gathered his bag.

Severus slid it quickly out of reach, glaring. 'Oh, I think not,' he said silkily.

Potter stared. 'But… I wrote it, and you already said we weren't going to discuss it anymore…'

'True,' Severus said with an evil leer. 'But I have not yet marked it, Potter. You will receive it back in due course.'

Potter's mouth fell open. 'You're _marking_ it?' he asked, incredulous. 'But why? These aren't normal lessons… it's not like it matters what I get on an essay.'

Severus' eyes glinted maliciously. 'Oh, you think so, do you, Potter?'

The boy gulped visibly, and the professor's smirk grew.

'Oh I assure you,' he promised. 'If I find your work is falling below par, I shall certainly conceive of _some_ way to ensure you are penalised for it.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

By the middle of December, Harry was beginning to come out of his melancholy somewhat. There had been no additional sign of Sirius Black – in _or_ out of the castle – and his constant stream of bodyguards seemed to be relaxing slightly. The Dementors had not put in another appearance since the disaster that was their first Quidditch match, and Ravenclaw had destroyed Hufflepuff in the final match of the term – greatly levelling the Gryffindor odds for a continued chance at the Cup. Snow had begun to fall steadily, covering the grounds in a sea of white and promoting snowball fights (or wars, if Fred and George tagged in) during morning and afternoon breaks. Inside the castle, Hagrid could be seen hauling the traditional twelve Christmas trees into the Great Hall, and Professor Flitwick superintended their decoration every evening, sometimes allowing requests from the gathered crowd. Many of the teachers (Professors McGonagall and Snape decidedly _not_ among them) had given in to student distraction, setting them more enjoyable or festive tasks in lessons rather than burying them in the usual onslaught of work. Harry, Ron and Hermione had all signed up to stay at the castle for Christmas this year, and Harry was excited for the holiday and the fortnight of relaxation.

As the final week-end of term approached, however, the wind began to leave Harry's sails again. He made his way wearily back to the Common Room after a rather difficult Friday. It had started in Arithmancy lessons, where he'd failed to complete the assigned equation for predicting the next lunar eclipse, and been humiliated in front of the entire class when Pansy Parkinson had caught and corrected his mistake. Then he'd nearly missed travelling back with Hermione to attend Divination, after Moaning Myrtle had decided to pop up unexpectedly in the boys' loo… and Harry had refused to complete his business until she zoomed up the pipes back to her own toilet. Professor Trelawney – who Harry suspected might be indulging for Christmas already – had broken her three-month silence on Harry's impending demise and nearly fainted as she gazed into his candle and pronounced his 'Omen' was the Grim again… which sent Harry to Transfiguration in a foul temper as much due to his own fears about the black dog as the rest of the class's muttering.

All in all, he was looking forward to an early night, some actual sleep for a change… and perhaps a celebratory day of games and food with Ron and Hermione the following morning.

But the sandpit in that idea was waiting on the Common Room notice board, a dozen excited students gathered around it.

Harry groaned as he saw the note – Hogsmeade week-end visit, set for tomorrow. Ron and Hermione were understandably thrilled, but it made Harry miserable to think he would be left alone, again, while everyone traipsed to the village without him.

'You can take my copy of _Which Broomstick_ ,' Wood offered, coming over to Harry at the breakfast table the following morning. 'Nobody around to disturb you today – an excellent time to get cracking on an order, Harry. You can't ride that bloody Star against Ravenclaw, you know.'

No, he couldn't. Harry knew he needed to get going on buying a new broom of his own… but the thought made him feel ill. It was like replacing a favourite childhood pet.

'Yeah… alright,' he agreed half-heartedly, pocketing _Which Broomstick_ with a false smile.

Wood clapped him on the shoulder in a brotherly sort of way, and hurried off after a group of seventh years headed to the village.

'We'll bring you presents,' Hermione promised as she wrapped a Gryffindor scarf tightly around her neck.

'Yeah, and loads of sweets,' Ron added, fastening his worn-out gloves. 'Honeydukes always has a holiday fudge – it's supposed to be the best ever.'

'Have a nice time,' said Harry, in the same false tone of happiness he'd given Wood.

Neither Ron nor Hermione seemed as convinced as the Quidditch captain.

'We could stay, mate, if you want,' Ron offered, hesitating as the three of them entered the Great Hall. 'I mean – they'll be loads of other trips, you know. Not like we have to join this one.'

Harry appreciated the gesture. But he didn't want to spoil their fun. 'No, you go,' he said, giving a more genuine smile. 'Have a good time, and bring me back some of that fudge.'

But as he watched Ron and Hermione hurry off to join the other third form students in the queue to pass Filch, he wondered why he kept telling everyone he was so fine with being alone.

He wasn't.

The thought led him back to Remus again. Remus… who was _still_ maintaining the stony silence he'd started after the Hallowe'en feast. As Harry mounted the stairs for Gryffindor Tower, he felt his anger at the man growing stronger and stronger, until he wanted to scream. He'd kept Remus's secret, hadn't he? He hadn't breathed a word, because he knew in his heart that Remus was a good man, whatever his recent behaviour toward Harry had been. And he'd figured, at some point, Remus would have to warm to him again.

But now it was nearly Christmas, and Remus _still_ hadn't come round.

On impulse, Harry turned off at the third floor landing, deciding he'd give one more go at Remus' door. Minerva was gone to the village with most of the others, and Albus hadn't been at breakfast – Harry supposed the headmaster too was in the village, or perhaps running errands outside the castle. He had almost nothing to do, given that there were no upcoming lessons next week, and he didn't fancy being shut up in Gryffindor Tower with Colin Creevey, or whiling away the time choosing a replacement for his Nimbus.

He might as well give it one last shot.

He stopped at the second to last, familiar door, and rapped three times with his knuckles.

No answer.

He rapped again. 'Remus!' Harry called.

Still no answer.

Irritated, he tried the handle. But the door was locked.

' _Alohomora_ ,' he muttered, trying the knob again. But the door still refused to budge.

Harry swore under his breath, rapping more insistently. 'Remus, go on, let me in,' he called.

But the door remained shut in his face.

It was a bit like being back at the Dursleys, trying to get Aunt Petunia's attention through his locked cupboard. Except, of course, this time Harry wanted _in_ rather than out.

He pressed his ear to the wood, straining to discern whether Remus was inside at all. He couldn't hear any sounds or movement beyond, but he supposed the professor might have set a charm on the panels.

'Fine,' he muttered, pushing away from the resolute door again. 'Fine.'

He turned moodily back up the corridor in defeat and annoyance with both Remus and himself, watching the snow fall softly through the mullioned windows as he scuffed the toes of his trainers against the marble floor.

He knew better than this, didn't he? He'd learned from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, years ago. Grovelling and begging for affection would not earn him anything, except perhaps more exile. It would not gain him notice. It would not give him love.

He was almost back to the staircase when he heard it.

'Psst – Oi, Harry!'

Harry snapped out of his introspection, turning toward the sound.

Fred and George Weasley's heads were stacked – one on top of the other – leaning around the side of a large statue of a humpbacked, one-eyed witch.

'What's up?' Harry asked, distrustful at once. 'Why've you not gone to Hogsmeade with the rest?'

'Oh, we're going,' George promised, giving a wagged eyebrow. 'But we've got –'

'A bit of festive cheer to impart before we do,' Fred finished with a wink. 'Come along, Harrykins.'

He jerked his head toward an empty classroom at the statue's left. Harry crossed his arms, glaring suspiciously.

'What's in there?' he asked, searching the twins' eager faces.

'Ah-ah, that would be telling!' George chastised in a saint-like voice.

'It's not a trap, we promise,' said Fred, when Harry still didn't move. 'Get a move on, or we'll be found out.'

Harry sidled in despite his misgivings, though he was careful to gaze about the classroom with his eyes before entering with his body. And he let the twins precede him into the room. Fred shut the door softly, and he and George turned to Harry with identical, beaming smiles.

'We've got an early Christmas present for you, Harry,' said George.

Fred gave a drumroll with his lips, as he pulled something from the inside pocket of his cloak with a flourish and set it carefully on one of the student work tables. Harry stared. It appeared to be nothing more than a rather large, square and worn bit of blank parchment.

He didn't get it.

'What's it supposed to be?' he asked, searching for the joke.

'Possibility, young Harry,' said George, stroking the parchment with clear affection. 'This is the secret to our success.'

'It's a wrench, giving it up,' added Fred with a sigh. 'But we've thought about it, and we decided last night you're in need of some Christmas cheer… and your need's greater than ours at the moment.'

'And anyway, we've memorised the important bits,' George put in, shrugging. 'So it's yours – we don't really need it anymore.'

'And exactly why do _I_ need a bit of old parchment?' Harry asked, still not getting the joke.

But ten minutes later, he understood.

When Fred and George had gone, looking quite satisfied with themselves and hurrying off to meet the others in Hogsmeade, Harry fingered the incredible gift alone in the classroom, thinking hard.

He knew he _really_ shouldn't. It was dangerous to trust unknown magical objects with intelligence of their own – Harry knew that. And after everything that had happened with Sirius Black… all of Dumbledore and McGonagall's warnings… they would murder him if they found out he'd snuck out of the castle. And what if Black was _using_ these passages, after all?

But no… that seemed very unlikely. Filch knew about four, and two weren't usable at all. That only left the one outside this room… and Dumbledore's ward should protect it, even if the headmaster didn't know of its existence. Plus, to get in, Black would have had to get through the village _and_ break into Honeydukes… and surely someone would have noticed if that had been the case.

Nobody was around right now. And nobody would be any the wiser… he'd be able to sneak out and back in before the others had ever returned to the school; and he wouldn't even pass the dementors.

Hermione wouldn't like the idea one bit. Snape would probably take so many points from Gryffindor, they'd be in the negatives until Harry graduated. Remus…

But who _cared_ what Remus would do. He probably wouldn't give a rat's arse, the way he'd been with Harry lately. What did it matter what Harry did, really?

And, with a sudden reckless abandon, he pocketed the map and ducked out of the classroom.

Some half hour later, Harry was pushing open a trapdoor in what appeared to be the cellar of Honeydukes. It wasn't until he was carefully sneaking up the stairwell that he realised: perhaps he ought to have brought the Invisibility Cloak. Minerva was here, after all. If she spotted him, Harry would be in detention faster than he could blink. He hesitated just behind the door, wondering if he ought to go back… but then he heard the shuffling footsteps of someone approaching the door, and recognised that he was out of time to change his mind.

'Sorry,' he said, bursting through the door and bouncing right off the round stomach of the shopkeeper, 'Thought it was a back way out.'

The man mumbled something congenial in reply, but Harry was too busy keeping his head ducked and scar out of sight to catch it, making quickly through the crowd of Hogwarts students. It was lucky there were so many – people did not look twice at another black-clad teen. He pulled his pointed hat out of his robes and shoved it quickly over his head, hoping it would keep him even more incognito among the masses.

Ron and Hermione, mercifully, were in the shop as well, squabbling over a display of sweets in a corner. He snuck between them and pinched both in the side, sending Hermione squealing and Ron to nearly upending a barrel of Cockroach Clusters.

'Harry!' Hermione exclaimed in a whispered hiss, whirling to look at hm. 'How on earth did you get here?' Her face changed, growing anxious almost at once. 'Oh Harry, you really –'

'Wow!' Ron said, giving a low whistle. 'You never said you'd learned to Apparate!'

'Course I haven't,' Harry scoffed. 'There's a passage…' he motioned for them to lean in a bit, and whispered the story to them. Ron was immediately offended that the twins had never thought to give the map to him instead, while Hermione's anxiety only grew.

'You ought to turn it in to Professor McGonagall, Harry,' she told him seriously. 'What if Black is using the passageways to get into the school?'

'He can't be,' Harry said confidently. And he explained his reasoning. Ron looked satisfied, but Hermione remained sceptical.

'Even if he _isn't_ getting in through the passage, _you'll_ still be in loads of trouble if you're spotted here,' she pointed out. 'Not to mention how dangerous it is, Harry. You might be –'

'Oh, let him a break, Hermione!' Ron needled. 'He can't give it up, or McGonagall will know Fred and George nicked it from Filch, and they'll get into serious trouble. And anyway – it's Christmas! Let's just… let's grab a butterbeer in The Three Broomsticks or something.'

Hermione bit her lip, but she nodded reluctantly. Ron hurried through the queue to purchase his sweets, and they bustled from the shop.

Once in the street, Harry regretted even more his lack of a cloak. And not just the possibility of sneaking invisible through the village… he would have given _anything_ for his winter cloak. The snowfall had turned nearly to a blizzard, and it was bitter cold in the high winds. The three of them hustled through the snowbanks quickly, desperate to get out of the chill. Harry was shivering when at last they entered the steaming warm of Madam Rosmerta's pub.

He was grateful to see she too was busy with holidaymakers in town for the festive season. A number of drunken warlocks were claiming her attention, and she did not turn as the three new arrivals entered the room.

'Let's get a table,' Hermione suggested, tugging at Harry's arm as she caught his wary glance at the bar. 'Ron can get the drinks – he likes the barmaid.'

'Oi, can't a man appreciate a good brew?' Ron protested, his ears going a bit pink.

Hermione scoffed, but pulled Harry around the corner without deigning to reply. They slid into a corner booth in a quieter section at the back of the pub, between a frosted window and a beautifully decked Christmas tree. Ron found them a few minutes later, balancing three foaming tankards in his hands.

'Cheers!' he said with a smile, raising his own.

Harry and Hermione clinked theirs too, and all three of them enjoyed the warmth as the drink coursed through their chilled bodies.

They'd barely been seated five minutes, however, when a number of chattering voices entered their section.

'Bullocks,' Harry swore, recognising the emerald-cloaked woman in front in an instant.

Hermione and Ron were just as quick. Before Harry knew what was happening, they'd shoved him hard on the top of the head, sliding him off the table to crouch on the floor beneath. He heard a whispered incantation, and the Christmas tree floated just a foot or two to the left, blocking their booth from view as the party of adults filed into a table nearby. Harry recognised the voices of both Minerva and Flitwick now, and he thought the third belonged to Cornelius Fudge, the Minister. A few moments later, Hagrid thumped over to join the gathering, and even Madam Rosmerta came round for a pint. Harry sat, frozen in fear and dripping in butterbeer from his now-empty tankard, hoping that this would not be a long visit for the staff and Minister.

By the end of the conversation, however, Harry barely registered the ache in his knees from his uncomfortable crouch on the pub floor… nor the vaguely sticky film of butterbeer that had dried on his robes and skin. He hardly remembered that he ought to be keeping quiet and out of sight… that he wasn't to be in the village at all. He scarcely recalled his anxiety over Minerva's presence… nor his concerns about sneaking back up the passage to school before the others got back.

All he could see was red. All he could feel was his own pulse thumping against his ears, thrumming in his skull.

 _Sirius Black… his_ Godfather _… his father's best friend –_ BEST _friend._

How _could nobody have told him?_

 _Dumbledore, McGonagall, Remus, even Snape. How could nobody have told him that his parents had died because they had been betrayed by their best friend? Hagrid – he'd_ seen _Black at the cottage, when he'd come to collect Harry. Pettigrew… Remus had_ spoken _of him, told Harry he'd died. But he'd left out a few key details, in the telling… Like always, they'd kept things from him. Thought him too young, perhaps, to know. Just like Fudge had said._

 _Was this why Snape had been so angry, telling Harry he mustn't run after Black?_

 _Harry didn't care, now. He wanted him dead. He wanted to murder him with his own two hands._

'Harry?'

Hermione's voice came, vague and off, as if he were hearing it through a long tunnel. Her face was before him, leaning down under the table. He hadn't even noticed the coast was clear.

'Harry, I –' She trailed off, apparently at a loss for comforting words.

Harry didn't care.

'I've got to go,' he muttered, scrambling out the end of the table.

He couldn't stand to be here… couldn't stand one more moment in this village, in this pub, feeling the weight of his own disillusionment crashing down around his ears.

All was ashes.

'Harry!' Ron pleaded, reaching to grasp his wrist as Harry straightened up.

But Harry dodged the attempt, spinning away from the table.

'I'll see you – back at the school,' he promised, not meeting either of their eyes.

And he threw himself, staggering, through the doors of the pub.

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Remus was sitting alone in his study, perusing a lesson plan for next term. He knew most of the staff had gone down to the village – ostensibly to supervise the children, but really to blow away some of the cobwebs of term themselves. Hogsmeade, he remembered, was always beautiful at Christmas. Like painted scenery from a play: the little houses and shops snow-covered and candlelit, holly and festoons of Christmas draped in the windows and wrapped round the lampposts. There would be villagers bustling in and out of the tinkling doors, carollers on the corners… Hogwarts students laughing as they threw snowballs at each other in the street and toasted the end of term with butterbeers in the pubs. It was lovely, and festive, and happy.

But Remus could not bring himself to be there.

Christmas, even more so than Hallowe'en, was painful for him every year. It was too much a reminder of everyone who had gone – everyone who had left Remus alone. He knew that if he went to the village, he would see James and Lily in every couple twirling in the streets as snow caught in their hair; Frank and Alice in those ogling one another in the little teashop at the end of the high street. He would see Peter in every nervous boy trying to be seen over the counter to get a pint from Madam Rosmerta; Sirius in every prankster bewitching the snowballs to chase his mates around the village square.

So Remus kept to his study and his books, plotting out his January timetables while the wireless thrummed in the background. Alone, and at peace.

Until his door burst suddenly open.

Remus whirled in surprise, sending a stream of emerald ink down 18 January's O.W.L. lesson.

Harry stood framed in the doorway, pale and shaking – whether with cold or fury, Remus was not sure. His eyes were red-rimmed as though he had been crying, and his hands were clenched in fists. There was an almost electrical charge emanating from the skinny child, and Remus was fairly certain the door had opened to his magic, rather than his touch.

'Harry?' he asked, climbing out of his chair in a rush and hurrying toward the door, forgetting his own forced apathy as he took in Harry's acute distress. 'What is it? What's happened?'

'Don't you touch me!' Harry roared, throwing himself out of reach as Remus went to place a hand on his shoulder.

Remus shut the door with the hand instead, taking his time to do so in the hopes that the child would calm. When he'd turned back from the menial task, Harry was pacing the floor, rubbing his hands through his hair and breathing heavily.

'Harry, what –'

'I didn't tell anyone, you know,' Harry said suddenly over him, stopping his pacing and turning to glare at Remus over the back of the shabby sofa. 'I didn't tell _anyone_ , and I've known for weeks.'

'Known what, Harry?' Remus asked warily.

'Known your secret,' the boy said, grasping the back of the sofa so hard that his knuckles clenched white. 'I know you're a werewolf.'

Remus felt his own heartrate accelerate, his vision tunnel slightly as Harry delivered the blow. He sank into the chair nearest the door, running a hand down his face.

'How?' he asked, studying at the threadbare carpet instead of Harry's face.

'Snape's essay,' Harry said curtly. 'I did it, even though the assignment got cancelled. He made me for our lessons. Obviously, _he_ wanted me to know.'

'Naturally,' said Remus, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone. 'He must have been thrilled you'd succeeded in working it out.'

'First time I've ever seen him truly smile, I reckon,' Harry replied, and there was no smile in his own voice. 'Hermione figured it out too. You know her – she'd done the assignment already. But I made her keep the secret. I made her _protect_ you – because Dumbledore knows, obviously. And if it were really a problem, he wouldn't have let you come. He trusts you… and I did too.'

Remus did not miss the past tense. He felt his pounding heart kick up another notch.

'I should have told you,' he said, looking back at the hard-faced boy. 'I should have told you months ago, Harry. But I didn't want you to… it's a hard thing to accept, I understand that. I was afraid you would –'

'Would what?' Harry challenged, cutting him off again. 'Would think you were a monster? That you couldn't be trusted?' He gave one, hollow laugh. Devoid of any true mirth. 'No, Remus. That's not what I thought at all. I felt _bad_ for you. I thought maybe _that_ was why you've been avoiding me ever since Hallowe'en… that you _knew_ I knew, or suspected I did, and that you were ashamed of it. I kept telling myself, after Snape's lesson and the essay – that that _had_ to be it. Because you wouldn't just vanish from my life… you wouldn't just give up on me, decide you didn't care. You felt bad, maybe, because you'd been lying to me about your secret. And you were afraid I'd be upset about it. But that was before I knew that you'd been lying about _everything_ since the day we met… that you _never_ cared…'

He was getting louder as he spoke now, his breathing becoming more laboured again, like it had been when he'd first entered the study. The cold tea set from the afternoon began to shake on the coffee table, skidding toward the edge and then finally tipping to shatter on the floor. Remus, stricken at the accusation, barely noticed it.

'Harry…' he said, getting to his feet. 'Harry, of _course_ I care,' he assured him, moving toward the boy again. 'I don't know what you're –'

'You've avoided me for weeks, Remus, _weeks_!' Harry bellowed, dodging Remus' attempts to console him again and striding around the room toward the fireplace instead. 'Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about!'

'I – I have, Harry, I know. I admit it,' Remus said in shame. 'I thought it would be better for you, in the long run. Associations with werewolves are not always –'

' _Don't LIE!_ ' Harry screamed, rounding at the hearth with his fists clenched again. The old vase on the corner of the mantle shattered, sending shards of glass everywhere. Harry brushed a few impatiently out of his hair, smearing red across his palms.

'Harry, come, let me see your –'

'You've been keeping _lots_ of truths from me Remus, since the day we met!' Harry railed at him. 'Did you think I would never find out? Did you, Albus, Minerva – everyone I've _ever_ met think you could just hide it from me, that I wouldn't discover it for myself one day?'

'Harry, I –'

'Or what about those memories, eh? How'd you manage to suck him out of those? Did some editing, did you? Or did you just pick and choose real careful like… so I wouldn't see things he was at? Was that why there was just one from Christmas, and none from my birthdays or anything?'

Remus felt a dull weight sink into his stomach. He knew, now, what had sent Harry over the edge like this.

'How did you find out?' he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

But Harry heard. He gave another hollow laugh. 'Does it _matter_?' he asked turning to face the fire again. 'You never said… you _never_ said they'd died because Sirius Black had been their best friend, and he sold them to Voldemort. _Never_ told me – not even when I found out the bit about them being mates in the Forest this summer. _He_ practically told me, for Merlin's sake… and I just stood there, with no idea…'

He slammed a fist against the marble of the mantel.

'Harry, sit, please. I'll get something to help you calm –'

'I don't _want_ to sit!' Harry bellowed, whirling to glare at him again. 'I don't _want_ to calm down, Remus! Albus told me about the Fidelius Charm, did you know? Ages ago: in our lessons this summer. He told me how it works… you _can't_ betray the secret by accident. You have to _want_ to give it up; _want_ to sell out the protection. He was their _friend_ , he was my _godfather_ , and he gave us _all_ to Voldemort like –'

There was a sudden, sharp knock against the door to the room, and Harry cut himself off as both he and Remus turned to stare at it.

'Not a good time!' Remus called, in a false-cheerful voice. 'Leave a note, please, or come back later.'

He turned to face Harry. 'Listen, Harry, I _know_ you're upset – you have every right to be,' he assured him. 'But you have to understand. None of us kept this from you because we didn't trust you, it's just that it's –'

'He _KILLED THEM_!' Harry screeched. 'He _KILLED_ my mum and dad – your friends! How _can_ you just sit here and act like it's –'

The knock came again on the door, more insistent.

'Later, please!' Remus shouted at it. And he threw up a silencing charm for good measure, hoping whoever it was would not raise an alarm from all the racket Harry was making.

'Harry, please! Just sit –'

The caller ignored him and the door flew open.

Severus was revealed on the threshold. His dark eyes swept the scene, growing darker as they did. He set the steaming goblet of Wolfsbane Potion he held on the front table immediately, drawing his wand in an instant as his lips furled back in anger.

'Lupin, what the _hell_ is going –'

'Did _you_ know, too?' Harry demanded, rounding on the Potions Master.

'Know what, boy?' Severus snapped back, his wand still raised.

Harry stared hard at him. 'Of course you did,' he said, seemingly to himself. 'You would – all of you. You were at school together, after all. All those hints over the summer that Dumbledore ought to tell me more… that odd advice about trusting the wrong people… all those times you warned me off Remus –'

Remus shot a furious look at Severus himself at this, but the other professor was too busy snarling at Harry to catch it.

'What are you talking about, Potter?' he demanded viciously. 'And you had better mind your tone, or you'll be –'

' _What_?' Harry challenged, firing up again. 'Chucked in _detention_? Big deal, you're already giving me those on a regular basis anyway. Docked House points? Like that matters to me right now… Black _betrayed_ my parents! He was their Secret Keeper, and he sold them out like they were nothing – like they didn't matter… like they'd never been friends at all. Did you know? He was my _godfather_. Albus never told me. Did you know?'

Severus had frozen, his expression growing more calculating as he watched Harry rant. Harry was nearly breathless with his advanced state of distress now.

'Do you have any Calming Draught on you, Severus?' Remus asked, setting aside his own anger at the man for the moment.

Snape did not turn his eyes from Harry, but reached deftly into a pocket with his left hand, retrieving a little phial of the blessed potion.

'Here, Potter, take –' he began, but Harry cut him off again.

' _Did you know_?' he repeated, his voice actually cracking with all the shouting.

'Potter, you are –'

'WHAT?' Harry challenged, drowning Severus out. 'Just like my arrogant father? As if I haven't heard you give _that_ insult before!'

'Actually, no,' Severus said, crossing his arms as his dark eyes flashed. 'Not this time, Potter. The temper is all your mother's.'

Remus shot Severus a curious look, surprised he would have remembered that bit about Lily after all these years. Not that the comparison was anything but accurate, right down to the blaze in the almond green eyes.

Harry looked momentarily stunned out of his anger.

'Harry, take the Calming Draught,' Remus pleaded wearily. 'And we can talk about this like –'

'I am _not_ getting dosed up so you can pat me on the head and tell me everything's just peachy!' Harry bellowed. 'I'm not a child, Remus!' Several books came flying off the shelf as he ranted, and the table began quaking again.

' _Control your temper_!' Severus snarled at him. 'If you demand to be treated as an adult, do not give in to petulant acts of childish accidental magic! Take the potion and sit _down_ , if you wish to be told the truth.'

Harry dropped his arms, but continued to huff angrily. The room gradually stopped its quaking.

'Give me the potion, then,' he finally relented through gritted teeth. 'But _somebody_ had better start talking.'

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 28:**

 **Me (Guest Reviewer)** : Haha, apologies! I know I'm awful – the title was absolutely meant as a tease. Alas, it is definitely too early for that particular reveal. I promise it _is_ coming though… eventually. And yes – Bill is back! This is our second POV from him, and I couldn't wait to get here. I always envisioned him taking part in the Albus/Gellert scheme, but the moment just wasn't right until now… and you are right – Albus _is_ a bit too trusting of the man. Or, perhaps, he still has a vulnerability there. He does recognise it, at least in part – which is why he chooses to involve Bill just at the moment that he begins to suspect the Horcrux hunt and the Hallows quest might have intersecting paths. We'll see how that all plays out shortly. Thanks for reviewing, and I hope you enjoy Chapter 29!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thank you for reviewing! Yes… _so_ much drama. Poor Harry, poor Albus, poor Morfin, poor Remus… and _poor_ Severus! I dare you to hug him – I'm fairly certain the first to do so would be hexed into 2017… But yes, our plot is quickly thickening on all fronts. How will our characters cope? Stay tuned…

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for your review! The title…. :) Yes, I did a little bit of unfair teasing with that, for which I apologise. But I'm glad you liked the chapter anyway! We won't see a lot more of poor Morfin's current life, but we'll _definitely_ be following Bill's new adventures. As for Albus' motives… I sort of discussed this to another reviewer above, but essentially my thought is that Albus is beginning to recognise the signs – he realises that 1) the Horcrux research and the Hallows might be intersecting, and 2) he does not entirely rust Gellert… but he also does not entirely trust himself. His solution to this is to bring in a third party – a buffer, if you will. Exactly how much Bill will be told (by Albus _or_ Gellert) remains to be seen. I hope you like Chapter 29!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thank you for reviewing! Happy to hear you liked the chapter! Though I've discussed the Bill/Albus/Gellert team-up in a couple of the earlier review responses, I do agree it's a bit surprising that Dumbledore's willing to put this trust in Bill. I think it's really about creating that buffer – that safety bubble for himself – more than anything; and he knows it has to be someone who knows Occlumency, which pretty much rules out everyone except the Aurors (who are all Ministry creatures), ex-Auror Moody (who is most definitely not a great choice to send to chat with a Dark Wizard), Snape (who's teaching, dealing with some 'issues' at the moment, and probably also a poor choice to send to a _second_ manipulative Dark Lord, particularly as it's likely he'll eventually have to go back to the first), and possibly a couple of Order members (there have been hints that Remus knows at least rudimentary Occlumency in this story, and its theoretically possible that someone like Hestia or Emmeline know it as well… though of course they have their own occupations). Ultimately, I think he goes with Bill because he knows Arthur and the family so well, because Bill is young and highly intelligent, because he will be making his excursions from outside Britain and is less likely to be noticed, and – most importantly – because he actively uses Occlumency on a daily basis for work, so his skills are likely to be sharpened.

The question on Legilimency is an interesting one. I imagine it is rather like having musical skill. Goblins are another race of course, so they are sort of like birds in this analogy – they are born capable of creating song, and it is their pride and joy. This relates directly to their cleverness: they are readers of people; which of course is also why they do not imagine that a wizard would be able to out-manoeuvre them. Some wizards, like Snape, are born with a slight inclination toward Legilimency which they are able to hone and train into great skill: think of someone who plays the piano expertly – they still had to learn the talent, even though they were born with a gift for music. Some wizards, on the other hand, are born with tremendous natural ability – like Queenie, in this case. It is like being born with a wonderful voice. You can still take lessons and learn to wield it properly, of course, but that skill is something you innately have: a part of your essence. In Queenie's case, I think it relates directly to her empathetic nature. Anyone can _learn_ to play piano, if they sit down with the music and bang out the notes enough times. But unless you have an inclination toward musicality, you will never be great at it. The greater the natural affinity for Legilimency, the greater skill a wizard is capable of. And I do not think that being a great Legilimens necessarily means you are a great Occlumens – or vice versa. They are related, but they are inverse… and so it is possible to be great at both, or only at one. I hope this helps address the question!

Poor Harry – he _does_ end up doing himself a fair amount of injury, doesn't he? Those dementors… haha and I couldn't help but make the Pepper-Up joke… it was too great an opportunity to put Snape in a foul temper and lighten a bit of a dark chapter for a moment. Glad you found it amusing :) Dumbledore is _definitely_ suspicious about the Grim. Especially as he knows – just as Snape said – that it can't _really_ be a Grim at all. Though he tells Harry it might be a figment of his Dementor-addled mind, I do not really think he believes that himself. But no… this particular visit to the fortress was all about Mr Gaunt, and the follow-up to our Moody conversation.

We'll have more Obscurial information – though it shan't come for a little while. The detention, however, is featured this chapter… so I hope you enjoy that! We've had a _lot_ of 'adult' perspective lately, or Harry with adults, so there _is_ more of Harry with the other students this chapter, and will be a bit more next time too. Not too much Minerva/Albus in this particular instalment, but we have a big section between the two of them coming next time, so I hope you'll like that when we get there!

Have a great New Year!

 **Guest** : Thanks for your review! I'm happy you liked the chapter, and hope the update was speedy enough! Unfortunately, this chapter was already fairly lengthy as it was… so there's not a lot of Minnie and Albus in this particular instalment, but I promise the _next_ chapter _is_ very heavy on Minerva/Albus scenes, so I hope you enjoy that! I'll try to get it up quickly. Enjoy Chapter 29 in the meantime!

 **AECM** : Thank you for reviewing! Very happy to hear that you enjoyed the chapter so much and that you have been finding it fits with the tone of canon-Potter. I hope you like the next chapter!


	30. Rarely Pure, Never Simple

**A/N:** Okay loves… new chapter!

Before we dive in, I do apologise because this chapter ended up becoming far too lengthy, and I decided to trim it rather than delay posting to put up an obscenely long instalment. As such, the chapter focuses on a smaller span of time than I'd originally intended, though this _should_ mean that the next instalment is quick in coming. However, I need to apologise to some of my readers, to whom I _know_ I promised Minerva this instalment as well as Sirius and the Harry's friends – I swear on Merlin's tomb they will all be back next chapter in full force.

As a point of interest, the title is an Oscar Wilde quote, from _The Importance of Being Earnest_. The full line is 'The Truth is rarely pure and never simple.'

Also, if you are looking for the referenced conversation in the Severus POV, you can find it in Part II, Chapter 4: 'The Homecoming.'

Enjoy 'Rarely Pure, Never Simple' – and **please read and review**!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **Chapter 30: Rarely Pure, Never Simple**

 _The Ring… the Stone… the Hallows…_

Albus' dreams were disturbed, more so than in decades, in the weeks that followed his visit to Morfin Gaunt. He had trained himself to compartmentalise years ago: to take even the fears that chilled him to the bone and stow them firmly away each night; because though he slept little, it was always essential that he sleep well. That was what was needed, when one was the general in a decade of war. It was vital, when one ran a school where hundreds of young lives were entrusted to his care. It was paramount, when one spent so much waking time scheming for every contingency – protecting as many as he could. And shielding the one that mattered most.

Not for the first time, however, thoughts of the Deathly Hallows were keeping him up. Thoughts that intermingled with those of the Horcruxes… and thoughts of what it all might mean, if these paths intersected.

By the end of the first week of December, there was still no word from the Ministry on Morfin Gaunt's culpability. But Albus knew he needed more information: on the woman who had become Voldemort's mother… and on the ring. He'd leafed through every page of the file Alastor had brought him a dozen times by now. He knew every word by heart. But the reports were focused on the Ministry actions, and the suspects they'd arrested. There was next to nothing on the two items the headmaster cared about.

So he decided he would go straight to the source.

Albus had never much liked St Mungo's. Though most of the wizards who came bustling through the hospital doors were merely there for the usual mishap, drippy nose or poorly performed charm… for Albus the place held much more sinister memories.

It was, perhaps, the by-product of spending most of one's time in the company of highly-capable wizards, or perchance living in a castle with its own infirmary. Even in the war, they'd usually managed between them with Poppy's assistance, or Lancelot's when something had been quite serious.

St Mungo's hadn't been safe. St Mungo's was a last resort – a desperate shot in the dark that nearly always ended badly. And, near the end, they'd stopped even chancing the risk.

He shook the recollections as he approached the front desk and the Welcome Witch. She was bent over a journal, flicking through in a routine sort of way with two-inch long talons. Only the top of her dyed-blonde head was available to meet the arrivals.

'Good morning,' he greeted her. 'I have come to pay a visit to a patient in your Rastrick Memorial Ward. Bed 327, I believe.'

The witch moved the journal aside, and scanned a scrolling list on a clipboard in front of her without looking up. 'Mr… Ogden, yeah?' she enquired, perusing the names.

'That is correct,' Albus agreed. The witch tapped the name with the point of her wand, and a second scroll appeared in front of her. Albus presumed this held information on Mr Ogden's care and condition.

'He's quarantined,' the witch said with a frown, reading a scarlet-inked note at the top.

'I was informed,' Albus assured her. 'I have already taken the precaution of immunity protections. His son, Tiberius, ought to have put me on an approved list?' he prompted.

The witch taped the bottom of the second parchment, and a third, smaller scroll popped up.

'Name?' she asked, peering at the list.

'Albus Dumbledore, Ms Heatherway,' the headmaster replied in amusement.

The girl gave a start, glancing up to take him in for the first time. 'Oh, professor, I'm so sorry, sir,' she apologised, going pink. 'I should have recognised you sooner.'

'No matter,' Albus said with a small smile. 'I know the floor – might I show myself up?'

'Oh, of – of course, sir,' the witch stammered, still blushing. She gestured a flapping hand toward a set of lifts to her right, and quickly looked away, shaking her head. Albus might have reassured her again, but at that moment her attention was distracted as a harried-looking woman burst through the doors – three small children covered in strange-coloured Bat Bogies wailing as they clutched at her skirts and pulling a fourth, scowling boy firmly by the arm.

Albus couldn't suppress a chuckle as he called the lift.

At times, he loved accidental magic.

He alighted on the second floor, which was a sea of closed wards, odd sounds and bustling Healers in lime green robes. He nodded to a few guiding a green-tinged wizard by the elbows through a set of heavy white-washed doors as he passed. The taller Healer, Palmer, called out a friendly greeting in reply. Albus had spent a fair amount of time with Palmer in the summer of 1991, when he'd perfected a new curative potion for this very disease. He hoped this patient's Dragon Pox were not so far advanced that he couldn't benefit from it.

Striding past the unfortunate fellow, Albus found the ward he sought at last. It was one of the smaller units, and there was only one visible occupant within the room: a little wisp of a man with very outsized spectacles, laying unmoving and facing the opposite wall. The headmaster pushed through the door silently, hoping not to startle the man awake if he was resting.

But the wizard turned immediately at his entrance.

'Hello?' he called in a thin, reedy voice, squinting in the dim lighting toward Albus' figure. Albus wondered if he could discern him at all: the glasses he wore were so thick they reduced his eyes to mere specks.

'Mr Ogden,' Albus greeted the man respectfully, 'I am sorry to disturb you. I am Albus Dumbledore.'

'Yes,' the man said, adjusting his spectacles with a slightly trembling hand. 'Yes, I can see that, now. My eyes are going a bit, I'm afraid. Could you?' He gestured toward a lamp on his bedside table with an age-spotted hand that looked faintly translucent. Albus inclined his head, and swept a hand over the table obligingly. The candle flickered to life.

'Better,' the man said with a contented sigh.

Albus smiled. 'I do not believe we have ever been properly introduced before,' he noted, taking a seat in a visitor's chair. 'Your son serves with me on the Wizengamot, of course. And he was a contemporary of mine during my own school days.'

The old man smiled. 'Tiberius was always a good boy,' he commented. 'And he is a good man. My children… my grandchildren… my great-grandchildren… I will leave this world in peace, knowing I have brought good people into it.' He took a laboured breath, though the discomfort did not penetrate through his obvious contentment. 'He speaks highly of you, you know,' he added, turning to face Albus again. 'Tiberius. Always has, almost a century now.'

'He is a dear friend,' Albus assured him. 'I was grateful that he – and you – agreed to allow me a visit. I know you must be feeling tired.'

Bob Ogden gave a short chuckle. 'I've been tired for years,' he said lightly. 'Long before this Vanishing Sickness began. There was no point putting you off, of course. Healers can do what they can do, but… it's near my time now. And I've made peace with that. Nobody lives forever.'

'No,' Albus agreed with a faint smile. 'Nobody does.'

And this man's death, so unlike the violent travesties Albus had witnessed on other levels of this hospital, would be peaceful. Vanishing sickness at such an advanced age was unlikely to be cured… but any pain could be easily alleviated with potions. Family members could visit even in quarantine with the proper immunity charms. Love could be expressed, shared and preserved. Bob Ogden would fade; but he would slip peacefully into Death's arms after a century and a half's well-lived existence. The way lives were supposed to come to conclusion.

He was just grateful Bob Ogden hadn't _quite_ reached this conclusion yet. He still needed him.

'While I appreciate all visitors that might break the monotony of St Mungo's,' the man said, still smiling softly, 'Tiberius did not mention why it was you sought an audience with me today. And I must admit some curiosity… what could the great Albus Dumbledore want with an old man at the end of his days?'

Albus straightened a little. 'I have… a request to make of you,' he said, carefully. 'Many years ago, while you were head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, you paid a visit to a family called Gaunt. Do you recall?'

Bob Ogden fidgeted with his glasses again, the smile fading. 'Vividly,' he confirmed. 'One sees many cases, of course, over nearly a century of service to the Ministry. But some stand out more than others. The Gaunts were not an experience I would soon forget.'

'I can imagine,' Albus said. 'I have heard a bit about what happened on your second visit, after the Riddles' murders,' he said judiciously, not wanting Ogden to know he had read the Ministry file. 'But I wondered about what you saw on your first call – after Morfin Gaunt apparently attacked Tom Riddle.'

Bob Ogden considered him. Though the man was so old and frail, Albus could tell that the Vanishing Sickness had not yet affected his mind.

'That was years and years ago,' the man said. 'At least fifty, now. What interest could you possibly have in a Muggle-baiting so long gone? What purpose could my recollection serve you now?'

'It could mean a great deal, Mr Ogden,' Albus said seriously. 'In fact, I believe there is every possibility that information you may have would aid the Wizarding World in keeping darkness from rising again.'

Ogden looked sceptical. 'Every one of them is dead,' he said slowly. 'Or, at least, Marvolo Gaunt and his daughter, as I understand it. He died shortly after his release from Azkaban, and she was never heard from again that I know of. I took an interest… after what I'd seen her experience at his hands. After his release, I looked for her. And again after his death. I was never able to find her. Morfin Gaunt still rots in Azkaban for his later crimes. I'm not sure how their family history might help anyone now.'

'Please, Mr Ogden,' Albus said, looking seriously over the top of his half-moon spectacles. 'I assure you, the memory may be vital.'

The wizened man sighed, but he seemed to accept the headmaster's plea this time.

'It was to be a fairly routine visit,' he began. 'Just to see the son – Morfin. The Muggle had been attacked outside the Gaunt home the previous day. He was put right and his memory modified, but he identified his assailant before the charm was performed. We sent an owl requesting a response, indicating a date and time for Morfin Gaunt's hearing at the Ministry. We received no reply, so I paid a call. Marvolo Gaunt informed me that they did not receive owls. There wasn't much sense in him, or the son. They spoke almost entirely in Parseltongue, so I didn't get much of a clear idea what was going on… I remember Mr Gaunt became very angry – insulted that I did not think Morfin ought to have more lenient treatment because of his Pure-blood status. He tried to strangle the girl, Merope, in an attempt to show me a necklace she wore. He claimed the locket was Salazar Slytherin's. The situation became violent shortly thereafter. I left for reinforcements, and both Morfin and Marvolo were arrested. The girl – Merope – was offered the chance to press her own charges as well but declined.'

He looked exhausted from the long reminiscence. Albus gave him a minute to recuperate, stroking his long beard as he thought.

'Was there a ring, that you recall, Mr Ogden?' he asked, when at last it appeared the man was somewhat recovered.

Bob Ogden frowned. 'I… yes, I believe there was,' he said, looking confused. 'Marvolo wore it – black-stoned, set in gold. He brandished it at me while he was shouting. Said there was some sort of coat of arms engraved.'

'Hmm….'

Albus took a pause again, thinking hard. He knew he had all that Ogden actively remembered… and it was enough, really, for the greater purpose. He knew what had happened to Merope Gaunt in the end. He knew she'd died in a London orphanage, birthing the baby who would become Lord Voldemort. And now that he had her name, he would be able to trace her through the intervening year or so before her death.

And yet…

He told himself his request was about the Parseltongue. And the locket. The need for more information – to have all the pieces that Voldemort might have had. That Voldemort might have used.

It was not about the Ring.

It was not about the Stone.

'Mr Ogden,' he prodded lightly. The man gave a small start, apparently having been drifting into sleep. 'I have just one more favour to ask of you, if you would be so kind,' Albus said gently. 'I wonder if you would oblige me by secreting the memory in this,' he asked, pulling an empty phial from mid-air. 'It would assist me, I think, in a project I am trying to complete.'

Ogden reached out a shaking hand again, taking the proffered phial. He frowned at the glass a moment. 'I have no objection,' he said at last. 'But I'm afraid you shall have to assist with the spellwork,' he admitted. 'The Vanishing Sickness… I cannot do much with a wand these days. It is far too taxing.'

'Of course,' Albus said. He shifted forward in the chair, and pressed the tip of the Elder Wand very lightly against the old man's forehead. Bob Ogden closed his eyes, and Albus chanted silently as he drew the wisp of silvery gossamer from the man's memories, catching it in the little phial. When he'd finished, Bob Ogden looked ready to drop off again. Albus pocketed the precious phial and stood.

'Thank you, Mr Ogden,' he said sincerely, resting a hand briefly on the man's shoulder.

He swept quietly from the room, leaving the man to his peace.

He'd viewed the memory as soon as he returned to the castle. it hadn't been a long recollection – maybe twenty minutes. But all Albus could see in its aftermath was the Ring. The Stone.

For it was _the_ Stone… he was almost certain. 'The Peverell Coat of Arms'… that's what Marvolo Gaunt had called it.

The Peverell Coat of Arms.

But, of course, it wasn't a coat of arms at all. It was a symbol. A legacy.

The Hallows.

And Albus still could not sleep. He was kept awake by desires… temptations… and, most of all, regrets. They ate at him like slow-acting venom. And Albus was grateful that Harry was _not_ staying in his quarters, at the moment, for he did not know how he would have explained his insomnia. Minerva, luckily, was less frequent an overnight visitor during term. She had her own charges to attend to. He waved her off cheerily each evening. And then he lay, staring at the ceiling for hours.

He knew he had to see Gellert. Knew he had to run new theories by him…. and see what else the dark sorcerer had come up with in his absence.

The Horcruxes. Those were what was important now. That was what mattered.

But… should he tell him?

All Albus' instincts screamed _No_.

And he didn't want to. Did he?

He hated this man…

Aberforth had been right – Albus _needed_ him. He needed Gellert… a thought that churned his stomach. Needed his information; his assistance. But trusting him… that would be a very, _very_ foolish idea. And no matter what he'd told his brother, Albus knew he had already given far too much of his own trust to Gellert. And he knew how that had turned out, last time. He knew what lay at the end of this road. Mixing up the Hallows in whatever relationship this was they had rebuilt so many years later was a very bad idea.

So he came up with a new plan.

A fortnight after his visit to Bob Ogden, on the last Saturday of term, Albus spent the morning testing a former student. Bill Weasley was good – excellent, even. Albus would not have expected as much from a young man only a few years out of Hogwarts, particularly given the fact that Bill had not begun studying Occlumency until after leaving the castle.

'You have a gift for this magic,' he remarked near midday, pulling out of yet another attempt to penetrate the man's mind.

Bill groaned, rubbing lightly at his brow as he took the cup of tea the headmaster passed him. 'I dunno about that, sir,' he said wryly. 'You've got though every time.'

'True,' Albus acknowledged. 'But my own skills in Legilimency are more than a century in the making. I would not expect you to keep me out indefinitely. There are very few who could.'

'You said Grindelwald was one of the best there is too,' Bill pointed out. 'If you can get in –'

'I am testing your defences quite rigorously, Bill,' Albus reminded him. 'Grindelwald is prodigious, that is true. But he would not dare to force a full-blown attack on your mind… not if you are there as my emissary. If you are able to keep your shields in place during this exercise – even to the point you have managed thus far – it will be more than enough to carry on interaction with Gellert. His attempts will be surface, at most.'

'If you say so,' Bill muttered, looking doubtful. Albus smiled.

'We should have a break,' he decided. 'Have a rest, perhaps. There is a guest chamber upstairs to the left, if you would rather not go all the way back to the rooms you stayed in last night. I'll send for lunch in an hour or so, and we shall depart afterward.'

Bill dropped his hand from his temple, looking suddenly nervous. 'Already?' he asked with a frown.

Albus stood, squeezing his shoulder. 'Time is of the essence, my boy,' he said lightly. 'And you _are_ prepared, I promise you.'

He showed Bill up to the guest bedchamber. The young man was asleep in moments. Albus wished he too could lie down for a spell… but he knew it would be a fruitless effort. Instead, he decided to tackle some of the correspondence he'd been avoiding, which was growing ominously on a corner of his desk.

Fawkes trilled as Albus sank into the high-backed chair, fluttering down from his perch to sit on the edge of the carved wood. The headmaster stroked his plumed head gently. The phoenix's eyes were judgmental.

'It cannot be helped,' he said quietly, still stroking. 'I must see this through.'

The phoenix gave one more long trill and stared dolefully back.

He used Disillusionment Charms on them both to get to the edge of the grounds when they set out that afternoon, not wanting any curious students to spot them through the castle windows. The wind was howling and bitter, and the flakes of snow swirling from the sky were threatening a blizzard at any moment. But his phoenix patronus circled around them, bringing a bit of warmth to their spot.

He took Bill's arm as they reached the other side of the gate. 'I will need to guide you,' he explained. 'Until you are keyed to the wards, you will not be able to apparate there on your own.'

Bill nodded, shifting his arm so his wrist griped the headmaster below the elbow. Albus gave him a half-smile, and spun them into nothingness.

The weather in the mountains was, if possible, worse. Snowbanks reached halfway up the imposing gates, and they could not see but a foot or so in front of their noses through the white. Albus cast a warming charm over Bill, then over himself.

'Come,' he beckoned. And Bill followed in silence, wand out and eyes vigilant. Albus appreciated the cautiousness, though he knew they were in no danger here.

He paused as he reached the gates. Bill's eyes were squinting upward, as he tried to see the words.

'For the Greater Good,' he read aloud. He turned to face Albus, his face grim. 'So this is Nurmengard, then?'

'Yes,' Albus affirmed quietly. 'This is Nurmengard.'

He stepped forward a pace or two. 'You will need to place your hand, please, upon the bars. Your wand hand, if you would.'

Bill Weasley did as he was told without comment, and Albus raised his wand. He began to chant in a low voice. An orb of golden light appeared around Bill's clenched fingers, then expanded slowly… growing wider and wider until Bill's entire body and the gates themselves were bathed in a golden glow. Albus gave one final verse, and the glow brightened momentarily before dissipating entirely. Bill shuddered a bit as he released his grip on the iron.

'A strange sensation,' Dumbledore acknowledged.

'It is a bit,' Bill agreed. 'But I take it it was successful, sir?'

Albus inclined his head. 'You should have no difficulty apparating here yourself in future.'

He held up his own hand and the gates parted, allowing the two wizards to pass.

Albus considered the young wizard from the corner of his eye as the pair made their way up the winding path. The reasons he'd given Bill Weasley for requesting his aid were genuine… he _didn't_ feel comfortable leaving the castle if it could be avoided, these days. Not with Black still at large and Harry still in danger. And he _did_ need an additional hand, for research purposes. Even if he was not quite sure yet how much he could risk confiding in another.

But there were other reasons too. Deeper reasons. Whatever Gellert had said about Albus understanding him, knowing him… Albus was not sure he did. Or, perhaps more accurately, he was not sure he completely knew _himself_.

He needed a new perspective – a safeguard in the room. He wanted the extra conscience. And Bill Weasley was the optimal choice. He knew Occlumency and could perform it well. There were few remaining, even in the Order, who could boast such a skill. He worked abroad, so his absences would not be noticed by other British wizards. He was young, energetic and intelligent. He came from a good and loyal family. And he was unconnected with the horrors of the last war… he did not have horrifying memories or racking guilt which could be exploited. He did not have conflicting allegiances with the Ministry. He did not have teaching responsibilities at the castle, and he wasn't leading a life of secrecy and shadows.

He was pure, but he was not naïve.

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Bill was silent as the headmaster led them up a path. Dumbledore kept his wand in front of him, sweeping away the snow at regular intervals to ease their climb. They were high in the mountains – somewhere in southern Germany, he expected. Snow-capped peaks were visible all around them… if one squinted hard enough through the driving snow. The fortress, of course, had been enchanted to be unplottable years ago, so Bill had no idea of their exact location. He wondered how Dumbledore had worked it out of Grindelwald, or if the headmaster had simply used his own powers to discover a weakness in the enchantment.

This was not what he had expected, when Dumbledore requested assistance. _This_ task was far more intriguing and far more worrisome than any he could have imagined. And Bill had a million questions.

He hadn't realised, before tonight, that Gellert Grindelwald was still alive.

Everyone knew Grindelwald's story. Or the highlights, at least. He'd been the most powerful dark wizard in modern history, until You-Know-Who had come onto the scene. His reign of terror might even be considered worse, in many ways. He'd ransacked continents: most of Europe, bits of Asia and Africa, and even some damage in America. And he'd been at it for decades before Dumbledore finally stopped him in 1945. His decision not to kill Grindelwald, but to imprison the dark wizard in the fortress instead, had caused something of an uproar. To his knowledge, nobody had seen him since.

Grindelwald had never really done much in Britain, which was – perhaps – why British wizards had never allotted him the status of unspeakable infamy they had assigned You-Know-Who. For most back home, the stories of Grindelwald centred mainly on Dumbledore's ultimate triumph. But Bill had spent enough time with foreign wizards by now to recognise that for most, this wizard was even more fearsome. Had torn even more lives apart.

 _For the Greater Good_ …

He shivered slightly in spite of himself.

 _Pull it together_ , he chastised himself sternly. They had nearly reached the end of the path now. The immense fortress loomed before them, its heavy front doors bolted shut. Dumbledore repeated the ritual he had performed at the gates, keying Bill's magical signature to the entryway.

'Master has returned,' a House-elf greeted them in a thick accent, stepping from the shadows as Dumbledore led Bill into the entrance hall. His bulbous eyes widened farther as they took in the newcomer. 'And… he brings a companion,' he noted. He bowed in turn to Bill.

'Lakai, this is Bill Weasley,' Dumbledore introduced. 'He shall be visiting, from time to time. You may consider him my emissary.'

'Of course, Master Dumbledore,' the elf said dutifully. 'Vill you be vanting tea, today?'

'Lovely,' Dumbledore agreed with a smile. The elf disappeared with a crack, and the headmaster swept toward a winding staircase. Bill followed, his nerves growing as they climbed.

Dumbledore led them to the very top of a high tower, to a door of gnarled wood. He knocked three times on the panels.

'Enter,' a voice called out. And the headmaster unlocked the door with a flick of his wand.

Gellert Grindelwald awaited them, seated in a rickety old chair as though it were a throne.

He was not what Bill had imagined. Though of course he'd known, intellectually, that Grindelwald had to be as old as Dumbledore now, the last images of the man he'd ever seen were from nearly fifty years ago. That Gellert Grindelwald had been at the height of his power: with golden hair, strong shoulders and agility in both the magical and physical sense. They said his duel with the headmaster had lasted hours… but this man did not look up to Dumbledore's par any longer. He was gaunt – emaciated with years of confinement and age. His hair had gone grey and scant, and his clothes were ragged. But his eyes, as they snapped to the doorway, were a bright, vivid violet. They did not twinkle – as Dumbledore's did – but there was a vivacity and calculative gleam in the gaze that told Bill, quite plainly, that the man's intelligence had not faded with his physique.

Bill repressed another shudder as the man's eyes swept past Albus to pierce him, locking his shields in place. He thought he felt the slightest pressure… but it was quickly withdrawn.

'You've brought company, Albus,' the man said, leaning forward toward the shabby table as a tea service popped into existence. 'How diverting. Though this one is too old to be the child I'd hoped to see…'

'This is William Weasley, Gellert,' Dumbledore said shortly. He conjured two armchairs with a wave of his wand, and nodded to Bill to sit.

'Charmed,' Bill said stiffly in greeting, inclining his head toward the wizened sorcerer.

'Not yet,' Grindelwald replied with a slight smirk as he poured the tea. 'But do not worry. I tend to grow on people. And our acquaintance is young.'

He handed Dumbledore a cup. Bill wondered at first that they were well enough acquainted for the dark wizard to note the headmaster's preference… until he found a second cup in front of his own nose.

'How did you know what I take?' Bill asked dubiously, accepting the cup Grindelwald held out with a frown.

 _Had his shields already failed him?_

Grindelwald gave a crooked smile. 'A talent of mine,' he admitted.

'Family trait,' Dumbledore murmured as he sipped his own cup. Bill looked curiously at the headmaster, but he did not elaborate. Grindelwald smirked.

'So it is,' he said. 'But you aren't here about Godric's Hollow, are you Albus?'

The headmaster's expression did not alter, but Bill thought he could read warning in Dumbledore's eyes. 'No,' he said slowly. 'I am here about Little Hangleton.'

'And the boy?' Grindelwald asked, as if Bill were not two feet from him. 'Really, Dumbledore, I had thought our little chats were going so well… have you come to doubt them already?'

The headmaster crossed one leg. 'Nothing of the sort, Gellert,' he said bluntly. 'But with Black still at large and the situation at the castle tenuous, I did think it best to involve another… we neither of us can be much in the field at the moment, and I do so dislike lengthy correspondence.'

Grindelwald shifted a bit, considering Bill with those unnerving eyes. 'Who is he?' he asked, speaking to Dumbledore but continuing to hold Bill's gaze.

'William Weasley,' the headmaster repeated. 'Though he does prefer "Bill."'

Grindelwald's gaze did not falter. 'Who _are_ you, boy?' he asked Bill this time, ignoring the headmaster's answer.

Bill stared back, determined not to show anxiety. 'Bill Weasley,' he said firmly. 'As the headmaster stated.'

'I did not ask what you are called,' the wizard said with the hint of a leer. 'I asked _who_ you are… what sort of _wizard_ are you. What sort of man….'

'If you're asking what my _blood status_ is,' Bill said through gritted teeth, feeling his revulsion grow, 'Then I am Pure-blood. Not that it should matter in the slightest.'

Grindelwald's leer grew. 'I care not what your parentage is,' he disagreed. 'Pure-blood, Half-blood, Muggle-born… it makes no difference, in the end. Magic is magic. Magic is power. You have it – or you do not. You _take_ it, or you do not. Great wizards have been born as often in shadow as in heaven's light, boy… our gifts are what give us the right to rule. So I will ask you again: _who_ are you?'

'My choice,' Albus answered, before Bill could think of a proper reply. 'Highly intelligent, highly resourceful, and loyal to the right side of magic. And that is all that matters, Gellert.'

There was warning in the tone, and neither of the others missed it. Grindelwald looked away from Bill at last, but Bill had a feeling the conversation was not at an end.

'Little Hangleton,' Grindelwald redirected. 'What did you discover?'

'Our suspicions were accurate,' Dumbledore said. 'Tom Riddle certainly visited the village, and he almost certainly killed his father and grandparents, blaming the murders on his uncle.'

Bill listened sharply. Dumbledore had given him some background late last night on his arrival… explained You-Know-Who's true name… told him that he'd gone to Grindelwald last year, when Ginny had been possessed by You-Know-Who, to discuss the diary… and admitted that he theorised that You-Know-Who had somehow tethered himself to life using a number of artefacts, the diary included. Grindelwald, Dumbledore had explained, was a necessary player in this working theory.

 _Why_ Dumbledore had involved Grindelwald at all was a mystery to Bill. But he did not ask. His job was to listen, to aid, and to keep the secret.

So he did.

'His uncle,' Grindelwald repeated, floating his own tea in mid-air as he stroked his chin in thought. 'That is… very interesting. The mother is dead, of course. Any other family members?'

'No,' the headmaster said. 'The uncle, Morfin Gaunt, was the only remaining relation. He is in Azkaban still, though I have advocated his release since learning the truth. The charm on his memory was crude… anyone with Legilimency training could have discovered it.'

'You visited the fortress?' the wizard asked interestedly. He leaned forward a bit in his chair. 'And how did you find Gaunt?'

'Very poorly,' Dumbledore admitted with a sigh. 'But it is no wonder… stuck in the prison as long as he has been. It is my belief that his own innocence was the one thing keeping him from succumbing completely to the Dementors effects. Even repressed, it is not the sort of reality they can feed off of.'

'And yet it would be enough to keep him sane,' Grindelwald continued the thought. A gleam of intrigue was evident in his eyes now. 'Or, at least, prevent him losing his mind to the point of forced starvation or vegetative existence. A reasonable posture, Albus. And here I thought you might be losing your touch…'

'So Riddle created the diary with the death of his father,' Grindelwald recapped. 'As we had suspected, of course. It is rather a poetic tale.'

Bill made a noise of contempt before he could stop himself. He reached forward to refill his tea as a cover up, but Grindelwald had already caught it.

'You are young, boy,' he said, shaking his head at Bill. 'You do not –'

'I am twenty-three,' Bill corrected. 'I'm not a student. And I've heard Riddle's story. But I fail to see poetic justice in murder, no matter the circumstance.'

'You _are_ young,' Grindelwald disagreed. 'And you have not yet lived through trials. You see the world in black and white – but in time you will learn that _nothing_ is so. Everything is a shade of grey, Bill Weasley. You wish to keep it neat and simple, but you cannot. You are less than two years from war… you will learn.'

Bill felt the hairs on his neck begin to prickle. Beside him, Dumbledore put his cup down with a sharp tinkle of china.

'What are you talking about, Gellert?' he asked in a low voice.

Gellert drew his gaze from Bill again, turning to face the headmaster. 'There will not be enough time, Albus,' he said. 'He _will_ return… before your boy is grown. That is all I know.'

Bill looked to Dumbledore at once, highly unnerved. The professor was frowning deeply.

'I'm not sure it was the Diary,' the headmaster said. It was such an abrupt return to the prior conversation, it took Bill a minute to refocus.

'Why?' Grindelwald asked. 'Did you find another?'

'Not precisely,' Albus prevaricated. 'But I did not see a trace of the book, in Morfin Gaunt's memory. And there were at least two other items of note: a family ring and an heirloom locket that apparently belonged to Slytherin. Both missing. The locket I suspect was taken by Riddle's mother on her flight from her childhood home. The ring… it appears more than likely that Riddle himself took it as a sort of trophy, the night he killed his father. To do so would have befitted his character, and it disappeared after the attack on his uncle.'

'A family ring…' Grindelwald mused. 'More fitting than an old diary, I must admit. For this conquest in particular. So, you proffer that he created the Ring that night instead… and the diary was a later addition?'

'Not quite,' the headmaster disagreed. 'The diary, if you recall, persevered Riddle at sixteen. Which means it must have been created in that year. It is possible, of course, that he stole the ring from his uncle and _never_ used it for such a purpose. It is also possible that he enchanted it later, I suppose. But I think the more likely scenario is…'

'That the Ring was the second Horcrux,' Grindelwald finished. Bill could not help but notice that while Dumbledore's expression had grown graver throughout his speculation, Grindelwald's was turning more and more intrigued.

'Interesting…' he repeated. ' _Two_ , before he'd even left school? _Two_ before magical maturation? Of course, it _is_ possible. He'd murdered a girl before.'

'No,' Bill piped up, catching up to the conversation a bit. 'Riddle killed Moaning Myrtle with the Basilisk. Ron told the family about it over the summer. Harry said Riddle told him it was an accident. So… it wouldn't really count as a murder, would it?'

'An accident, I think, that Myrtle found him out that day,' Dumbledore countered. 'I do not think he'd set out with the intention of killing her. But once she was there…'

'He took the advantage,' Grindelwald finished. 'She would have been the perfect test, of course. In an isolated location… end of term, when he knew he'd have to move on for the summer holidays. He might even have been plotting his father's demise already. She might have been the rehearsal.'

'Yes,' Dumbledore agreed darkly. 'That is my inclination as well.'

'And so there is at least one other,' the old wizard summed up. 'The Diary is destroyed… the Ring missing. And two by sixteen, Albus… it does not bode well.'

'No,' the headmaster said with a sigh. 'I expect this is only the beginning.'

They sat for a few minutes in silence, sipping their tea. Then Grindelwald spoke again.

'You should trace the locket,' he opined. 'Slytherin's… it seems he was rather obsessed with the family legacy, was he not?'

'I expect so,' the headmaster replied. 'But it vanished well before he was born. I do not know if even Voldemort would have thought to trace it so many years.'

'On the contrary,' Grindelwald disagreed. 'If he believed it to be his by right, he would have stopped at nothing to obtain it. He would have scoured the Earth, if he had to. If he wanted it badly enough.'

Dumbledore frowned at his contemporary. But it was not a frown of disapproval, this time. There was contemplation in his expression.

'Perhaps,' he admitted. 'Obsession, after all, drives men to madness.'

Grindelwald was smirking again as Dumbledore checked his watch.

'We ought to be going,' he said, glancing over at Bill.

Bill, all too ready to depart, jumped to his feet. He nodded at the old wizard grimly before turning for the door. But Grindelwald ignored the gesture, lunging instead toward Dumbledore. Bill had his wand half-drawn before he realised the man was not attacking, but merely gripping the headmaster's arm. Dumbledore's eyes glanced at the touch, then rose to stare at Grindelwald's face.

Gellert Grindelwald leaned in slowly and Dumbledore bent forward, almost automatically it seemed, so that the other could speak at his ear. But he did not whisper the words… and Bill heard them as clearly as the headmaster could.

'What happens now then, Albus?' the man hissed out. 'Is this what it comes to? Will we die… just a little?'

Dumbledore leaned back suddenly, almost as if he were recoiling. His face was blank, but his colour had drained visibly. Blue eyes flashed without a trace of twinkle.

'Until we meet again,' he said softly, breaking Grindelwald's hold on his arm. 'Mr Weasley, we should be going.'

'Yes, sir,' Bill said, stepping forward. He followed the headmaster from the room. Grindelwald did not move from the centre of it, his unusual violet eyes watching them out the door. As it swung shut behind them, Bill could have sworn the old man gave half a smile.

'I am sure I need hardly tell you,' Dumbledore said in a low voice as they left through the gates again, 'That everything you have heard this night – everything about this task you will be assisting me with – is highly confidential. For the safety and security of everyone, we must ensure that it is never spoken of, outside our own conversations.'

'Of course, sir,' Bill promised at once. 'I shan't say a word. To anyone.'

'Be sure to understand me,' the headmaster said. 'You must keep the confidence _always_ , Bill. Even if something were to happen to me. Tell nobody what you have learned this night, unless I ask you otherwise.'

'I swear it, headmaster,' Bill said, meeting the bright blue gaze with open sincerity.

Dumbledore gave a small smile. 'Good,' he said simply. 'Then let us return to Hogsmeade. I am sure Molly would be delighted if you make it home for supper.'

Bill nodded, and they disapparated together.

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'Albus.'

The headmaster had not been back in his office three minutes when the voice rang out from the hearth. He turned at the base of the staircase – having been about to go up and remove his cloak – to see Kingsley Shacklebolt's head in the fire.

'Mr Shacklebolt,' Albus greeted the head in the flames. 'You have come bearing news on our prisoner, I expect?'

'Yes,' Kingsley agreed, in his deep voice.

'And has the Ministry reached the conclusion of its investigation?' Albus asked, pouring himself a glass of whisky from the decanter on a side table and stepping closer to the hearth.

'Not yet, headmaster,' the wizard admitted. 'But I'm afraid it hardly matters now.'

Albus paused at the mantle, studying the face in the flames. He gave a deep sigh.

'When?'

'Early this morning,' Kingsley admitted heavily. 'I was just informed. He was buried an hour ago.'

'Another life cut short; another casualty of Lord Voldemort's making,' Albus whispered, shaking his head. He turned back for the table and his whisky. 'Be sure that Rufus has Fudge issue an acquittal nonetheless,' he said to the Auror. 'Alive or dead, we owe him that much at least.'

'I shall,' Kingsley promised. But he did not pull immediately out of the fire. Instead, his brow furrowed as he watched Albus' sadness. 'Don't beat yourself up, headmaster,' he said kindly. 'You did your best for him… and even without those murders on his account, Gaunt was a Muggle-baiter and an abuser. He was not a good man.'

'No,' Albus agreed, looking up from his glass. 'But whatever he was, he did not deserve his lot. He did not deserve fifty years of unending torture, or an unmarked grave in the middle of the sea. And his death is as much on the conscience of wizarding society as on Lord Voldemort's hands.'

Kingsley made a noise that might have indicated agreement, bid the headmaster goodnight, and disappeared from the flames again. Albus drained the rest of the whisky in one large swallow, wondering how much more was to be piled on him this day.

He was just headed for the stairs again, thinking he might try to rest an hour or so before supper, when a second voice shouted from the floo. He whirled to see Remus's head this time, his eyes wide even in the dancing flames.

'What is it?' he asked, startled by the urgency evident in Remus' expression.

'You'd better come,' Remus said, frowning. He gazed behind him through the flames… to something Albus could not see.

'Remus?' he pressed, his brow furrowed.

'Harry,' Remus explained, refocusing on the headmaster.

Albus hurried for the hearth. 'Is he injured?'

'No…' Remus said carefully. 'Not physically, at least. But Albus… he knows about Sirius. About everything.'

Albus ran a hand along his forehead, heaving a great sigh.

Severus had been right. He _should_ have told the boy sooner. He'd meant to… meant to lead up to it. Meant to get him ready, gradually. But this was the problem with such schemes.

They did not account for the loose lips of others.

'I will come through,' Albus said. He threw the travelling cloak onto the sofa in front of the hearth instead of returning it to its place upstairs. Remus' head vanished, and Albus threw a handful of powder into the flames.

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Harry downed the potion Snape handed him with an irritable haste, not even registering its flavour. He was too busy glaring at both professors. The effect was nearly immediate. But though the potion slowed his heartrate and spread a warm sort of fuzz about his thoughts, it could not completely drown his temper.

Snape seemed to notice. His obsidian eyes were wary as he considered him.

His was the first query. 'How did you learn about Black, Potter?' he demanded.

Harry crossed his arms. 'Ron and Hermione overheard Minerva, some of the other professors _and_ the Minister in the Three Broomsticks,' he said, shifting his gaze to Remus' face so that the Potions Master would not catch the omission. He hoped Ron and Hermione had also come straight back to the castle, in case their later arrival spoiled his cover. And that he'd be able to tip them off. He probably should have thought of that sooner…

Remus rubbed a spot on his forehead. 'That is not how we would have preferred you to –'

'Does it really _matter_ , Remus?' Harry interrupted. He would have shouted, but the potion was dulling his volume a bit. 'I don't care _how_ you wanted to tell me… I want to know why you _didn't_. And I want to know everything.'

'You do not get to know everything, Potter,' Snape snapped back. 'As for why you were not told, I do not suppose you have considered the fact that you are thirteen years old, with a track record for trouble that puts even your father to shame.'

'Severus,' Remus warned as Harry bristled again. The Potions Master scowled, but jerked his head in Remus' general direction.

Remus sighed deeply. 'Sirius Black,' he began in a rough whisper, 'James, myself and Peter Pettigrew all became close at Hogwarts. Your father met Sirius on the train to school, Harry. The rest of us became acquainted at the feast. We were fast friends, and nearly inseparable throughout our time at the castle.'

Snape gave a derisive snort at this, but did not comment. Remus sent him a sideways glance before continuing.

'James and Sirius were closest,' he admitted grimly. 'The four of us – we were all best mates… but it was more between Sirius and James. They were family.'

Harry swallowed hard, remembering Professor Flitwick's words: _'You'd have thought Black and Potter were brothers!'_

'Why?' Harry asked, almost pleading. 'What made him so great? Why couldn't my dad see…' he trailed off, unable to complete the thought.

Remus shook his head in sympathy. 'I don't think he was always bad, Harry,' he said gently. 'No. Things changed, later. But I can't believe he was evil while we were young. He was loyal, almost to a fault. He was always there – always had our backs.'

Snape scoffed again. And this time, it seemed, he could not help himself.

'Black was an arrogant, conniving, petulant ingrate from the moment he entered this castle!' he disagreed through gritted teeth. 'What Saint Potter and his little friends missed was obvious to many of the rest of us, Lupin!'

Remus opened his mouth angrily, but Harry wanted to hear the rest of the explanation.

'I don't care,' he interrupted, before Remus could retort. 'I – tell me about what happened, Remus,' he insisted.

Remus shot another glower at Snape, but he continued. 'Sirius came from a… difficult family. They were cruel to him, as a child. He had never fit in. He had a younger brother, Regulus, who was the centre of his parents' world. Regulus followed in the path the Blacks had set out for him, to a tee. But Sirius was different. Or he was at that time, anyway. Things were miserable in his home as a result, especially after he came to Hogwarts.'

Harry felt uncomfortable… the way Remus described it, Sirius Black had lived like _Harry_ had lived. He didn't like the correlation.

'When Sirius was sixteen,' Remus went on, 'He'd had enough. He ran off during the holiday – went to James' home. Your grandparents took him in without question, and treated him like a second son. He was nearly as cut up as James when they passed away. Meanwhile, James and Sirius grew even closer. James was an only child, and I think Sirius sort of began to fill the role of the brother he'd never had. They took a flat together after Hogwarts, joined in the fighting against You-Know-Who with Peter and myself, and eventually Sirius was made best man at James' wedding to Lily.'

'All very touching,' Snape said sarcastically. And Harry noticed his eyes were gleaming again. 'But let's jump forward to the relevant history, Lupin.'

Remus scowled again, but turned to face Harry without looking at Snape. 'I told you once before,' he reminded him, 'That things were confused at that time. Very dark, very dangerous. It was hard to know where _anyone's_ allegiance lay. I do not know myself the moment when Sirius' loyalties turned. Or even if there was a specific moment.'

'At least a year before the Potters' deaths,' Snape put in curtly. He spoke with such certainty that both Harry and Remus stared, but offered no further explanation.

'In any case,' said Remus, 'Sirius lived with your mother and father for a time, even after they were married. A bit of an odd situation to you, I suppose,' he added – smiling slightly at the expression on Harry's face. 'But there was a war going on. People kept close to their loved ones, where they could. He stayed until your mother became pregnant with you. And he was at the house the day you were born.'

'That's what you meant,' Harry said, remembering suddenly. 'When you told me you came with someone… over the summer, at the Dursleys. You said you came by the day I was born –'

But Remus was shaking his head. 'No,' he disagreed. 'I came with Peter, Harry. Sirius was there already. He saved your life, and Lily's. She had a…' he trailed off, shuddering a bit. 'It was not an easy birth,' he amended. 'Had Sirius not arrived when he did, I am not sure Lily would have lived. Sirius was the only reason Dumbledore and the Healers arrived in time to save both of you. She let him name you, in gratitude.'

'She _what_?' Harry asked, incredulous. He heard an odd sound from behind him, and turned to stare at Snape. His face was utterly blank, but Harry thought he looked almost green. Quite uncharacteristically, he did not offer a snide remark.

'Harry,' Lupin explained, 'Was your great-grandfather's name. I wonder if anyone has ever told you? Sirius selected it – they were always close.'

Harry's mind was a whirlwind. 'N-no…' he said, quietly. 'I don't know anything about my family, really. Either side. Aunt Petunia didn't like me to ask questions… and she never talked about her family. I knew my mum's parents were dead, because she told Dudley once that he couldn't have his grandmother in for grandparents' day at primary school because they'd died when he was a baby. She never spoke about them otherwise. And there wasn't anyone around from my dad's side when I was small, obviously.'

He liked the idea that he had something from his dad's family… it was like having a legacy, of a sort. But then he remembered that Sirius Black had given it to him… and he felt vaguely ill.

'Are you alright?' Remus asked, leaning toward him from his chair. Harry supposed something of his nausea must have shown on his face. He shook himself.

'The Sunday dinners…' he asked instead. 'You said you came round every week when I was a baby. Was that with him?'

'Yes,' Remus agreed, still looking a bit concerned though he pulled himself upright again. 'For the first year or so. Then things became… strange. Less certain than ever. There had been rumours for months that Lord Voldemort –' he ignored the Potion Masters' muttered expletive – 'Was considering an attack on your parents. They'd been living under a lot of protective wards. Except when they had to do work for the war, they stayed almost entirely in the house with you. But the war was… we were…' he trailed off again, looking close to tears.

'Losing,' Snape supplied harshly. His jaw was set and his eyes blazing as he glared at Remus. He ignored Harry's questioning gaze.

'Yes,' Remus admitted quietly. 'The Dark side was gathering strength, every day. Even Dumbledore was having trouble making any headway. The Ministry was in shambles. And everyone was terrified. Nobody trusted anybody else. Betrayal was almost expected. Your parents stopped having visitors. Dumbledore didn't think it was safe any longer…'

'Why?' Harry demanded. 'Because He was after them?'

'The headmaster suspected someone had turned traitor,' Snape cut in, picking up the story before Remus could reply. 'The turn of the tide was less gradual than felt natural. He advised precautions in many cases.'

Remus was giving Snape an odd look again. It was not lost on Harry.

'How do _you_ know, sir?' he asked, crossing his arms again as he glared at Snape.

'Because I _do_ ,' the professor replied maddeningly.

Harry ground his teeth. He could feel the rushing of magic and anger again… the potion wearing off.

'Is that when Dumbledore did the charm then?' he asked ferociously. 'And he made Black Secret-Keeper, and Black turned them over, and Voldemort killed –'

' _Professor_ Dumbledore did not perform the charm at all,' Snape interrupted in a hiss. 'Your arrogant _father_ chose Black, not the headmaster. That foolish decision is on _him_ , boy. And the opportunistic turncoat ran to the Dark Lord, and he –'

'Enough, Severus,' Remus commanded, jumping to his feet as Harry shrank back.

Harry's heart was hammering again, as if Snape had hurled hot knives rather than insults.

'It's not my _dad's_ fault!' he bellowed, not caring if he sounded childish. The potion seemed to have released him now, or perhaps his temper had merely overpowered it. 'It's _Black's_! And how do you know the headmaster didn't perform the charm? I – Hermione and Ron heard it. They _heard_ Fudge say Albus told my parents their only chance was the Fidelius Charm. He told me himself it's a complex spell that only those really good at Charms can do. Why _wouldn't_ they have Dumbledore do it, then?'

'Harry, sit down,' Remus urged, pushing him back toward the sofa. Harry hadn't even realised that he'd jumped to his feet. He sat again, but continued to glare at the pair of them. Snape looked ready to skin him alive for potion ingredients, while Remus was rubbing his temples once more.

'Did you speak to Albus about this?' he asked finally, dropping his arm to look at Harry.

'No,' Harry said shortly. 'I wanted the answers from _you_ , Remus.'

'And I'm trying to tell you, Harry, I am,' Remus pleaded, holding his gaze. 'But I don't… I don't _have_ all the answers, Harry. The headmaster knows much more than I ever –'

'Call for him, then!'

It was Snape that interrupted this time. His face was unreadable again, but his arms were crossed tighter than Harry's own.

Harry stared at him, frowning. ' _You_ don't have to stay, sir,' he said pointedly, when Remus had turned for the fire without another word.

But Snape ignored him, glowering at Remus' stooped back.

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Albus appeared in moments, looking a mix of bone-tired and apologetic. His eyes found the boy's at once.

'Harry,' he said softly, almost placatingly. 'I am… so sorry, my dear child.'

Potter's gaze was unforgiving. 'You lied to me,' he said quietly. 'Just like them. Just like _all_ of them. How could you not tell me?'

'I did not lie to you, Harry,' Albus disagreed, stepping closer. 'I would have –'

'You _did_ ,' Potter insisted. 'You _did_ , sir. _Not_ telling me is the same as lying! I had a _right_ to know. You should have told me ages ago.'

'Yes,' Albus agreed, cutting off the boy before he could build a head of steam again. 'I probably should have. I meant to, before long. But I wanted to get you ready. I did not wish to spring such information on you, when you are still so young and –'

'I'm _not_ that young!' Potter shouted over him. 'You keep saying that… all of you. But I've faced Voldemort _three times_ now, and I've not been murdered yet!'

'By the skin of your teeth,' Severus muttered. Potter gave him a furious glare, but did not stop in his rant.

'I'm not completely useless!' he shouted, looking back to Albus. 'And others knew… Draco Malfoy,' he remembered, turning to stare down Severus again. ' _He_ knew. He would, of course. His father was close to Voldemort wasn't he? He tried to goad me about it, first lesson back. That's why you got all cryptic with me afterward.'

Severus did not deign to respond.

'I _would_ have told you, Harry,' the headmaster insisted again. 'This term… time has rather got away from us. But I promise you, I did not intend to keep you in the dark forever.'

'You told me about the Fidelius Charm,' Potter reminded him. Severus could see he was itching to jump from the sofa again, but the wolf kept a restraining hand on his shoulder. ' _You_ told them to use it. _You_ made him the Secret-Keeper!'

'I did not,' Albus disagreed quietly. 'I advised them to use its protection, yes. I even offered to be their Secret-Keeper myself. But the decision to use Black was not my own, nor did I perform the charm.'

'Who did, then?' Potter challenged.

'Your mother,' Albus said. His blue eyes were locked on the boy's, but Severus could feel the tiniest flicker in his direction anyway. His own grip on the back of the chair in front of him tightened a fraction.

 _Of course…_ Lily. She'd always been brilliant with Charms. And Black had used her… then he'd killed her.

'My… my _mum_?' Potter asked, looking dumbstruck.

'She was excellent at Charm work,' Albus affirmed, with the merest hint of a smile. 'I told you before, Harry, that there can be duplicates in both roles. The location of your cottage was hidden in Black, and in your father. The idea being that there would be someone on the outside guarding the secret, but James would be able to reveal it where necessary to allow certain visitors without ever divulging who the Secret-Keeper was. It would have been a perfect scheme, had Black's true nature not come to light.'

'But _why_ did they need it at all?' Potter asked, looking confused. ' _Why_ were they being hunted so badly, that wards weren't enough?

Severus felt the flicker of Albus' eyes again, even while he fought to keep his own face mask-like. And he heard, in the recesses of his occluded mind, the echo of their conversation the night Potter returned to the castle in July…

 _'He will ask questions, you realise, if I tell him about Black and the Fidelius charm. He will want to know why they needed such protection… What am I to do then, Severus, if Harry asks for the truth?_ _Things are quite intertwined, once we pull back the veil on what happened that night.'_

'He was after everyone, Harry,' Lupin said with a furrowed brow. But Potter was focused on the headmaster.

' _Why_?' he demanded.

Albus sighed. 'Remus is correct, Harry,' he hedged. 'Your parents… all of us that were involved in the fight against Voldemort… we were all targets.'

'He _said_ he wanted _me_ dead,' Potter reminded him in a high-pitched tone. 'In that chamber, with the stone… that's what _he_ told me. Voldemort.'

Severus could tell he'd reached the crux of the issue now. The boy's face was scarlet with fury and fear… and Severus knew he wanted the headmaster to confirm what the Potions Master himself had snarled at Potter months ago: that it was _not_ his fault… that his parents' deaths were at someone else's feet…

Lupin was looking between Potter and Albus in confusion. He, apparently, hadn't been privy to this bit of information before.

'Harry, your parents died because of Voldemort,' Albus assured him, addressing the plea while dodging the question. 'Voldemort, and Sirius Black's betrayal. It was not your –'

'I'm done with the lies!' Potter interrupted, shrugging off Lupin's slackened hold on his shoulder. He did not rise from his place on the sofa, but his hands gripped the edge of the cushion so tightly they were bloodless. The toes of his trainers barely skimmed the floor, but he looked much older than thirteen as he glared at the headmaster now… his magic – like Albus' own – almost palpable in a way that simultaneously impressed and terrified.

'Tell the truth!' the child bellowed.

It was harsh. A command. Potter's green eyes blazed as he threw the words at Dumbledore, and for a moment Severus could have sworn the glow of the fire gleamed scarlet in them.

Albus suddenly paled, as if the child had cursed him. Quite uncharacteristically, the headmaster's shields faltered. And, for just the briefest of heartbeats, Severus could read deep sadness… and perhaps a hint of fear.

Then the shields returned, though Albus's colour did not.

'Enough, Harry,' Dumbledore spoke. His voice was hardly above a whisper, but the boy calmed at once. Calmed in a way he _certainly_ had not for Severus or Lupin tonight. The headmaster walked slowly over toward Potter's sofa, kneeling in front of him. The boy was breathing heavily, but he allowed the headmaster's touch on his knee.

Severus, meanwhile, was half-tempted to pull Albus upright again, or throw him into a chair. He looked drawn… even ill. The Potions Master glanced sideways at the wolf, but the other professor appeared not to have noticed these disconcerting signs. Lupin's focus was entirely on the Golden Boy.

'I have told you before, Harry, that you are not yet ready for all the information about what happened that night,' Albus said softly to Potter. 'And I stand by that statement now.' He held up a finger with the hand not holding the boy, before Potter could interrupt. 'But I shall _not_ lie to you about it,' he assured him. 'If you give me a moment, I will tell you what I can.'

He waited, watching Potter closely. At last, the boy gave a small, short nod.

'We knew that Voldemort was after your family,' Albus told him. 'We'd known it for some time, but the situation became more and more dangerous as the months went on and you grew older. I suspected that someone on our side was passing information… but we did not know who.'

'How did _you_ not know?' Potter asked. He wasn't shouting anymore, but his voice was pleading and desperate. 'You know almost _everything_ , sir.'

'I have told you before, Harry, that I am far from omniscient,' Dumbledore said heavily. He looked older and wearier than ever. 'And as for why I did not know that Sirius Black was the traitor in our midst… it is a question I have asked myself countless times since your parents' deaths, I assure you. I had suspicions. I advised James and Lily to use the Fidelius Charm in part because of those suspicions… but even I did not dream that Sirius Black would be the one who betrayed them. It was almost as shocking as it was tragic.'

Severus bit his tongue against the retort he so longed to give. Lupin snuffled a bit on the sofa before rising to tidy the mess Potter had made of his mantel so that Potter would not watch him fall apart.

 _Disgusting_.

'Even after the charm was performed, it seemed all was well for a time. Your parents, and you, spent several months under its protection without incident. Then came Hallowe'en night. I do not know whether Black told Voldemort the secret that very evening, or whether Voldemort had been plotting the attack for some time… though I rather suspect the latter. In any case, Sirius Black's allegiance was revealed with the attack on your family. He was tracked by Ministry wizards to Northern Ireland, where he was found in a Belfast street in an argument with Peter Pettigrew. The Ministry wizards moved in at once, but Black blew the street apart with a curse before they could subdue him. Peter was killed in the blast, as were a number of Muggle witnesses. Black was uninjured and taken into custody. He spent twelve years in Azkaban… before this July, of course.'

'You should have performed the spell,' Potter said quietly. 'You should have _made_ my mum and dad use _you_ , instead of him.'

Albus sighed. 'Our choices are always our own, Harry,' he said gently. 'We cannot force them on others. And the consequences of our choices are far too complex to predict. It is _not_ James' fault for choosing Black as Secret-Keeper. It is _not_ Lily's fault, for performing the charm. And it is certainly not _your_ fault that your parents died that night, Harry. Not in the slightest.'

Potter brushed at his eyes. 'He was their friend,' he said dully.

'Yes,' Albus agreed in a whisper.

'He was my godfather.'

'Yes.' Albus repeated.

'And he betrayed us,' Potter said, quietly this time.

'Yes.'

'I… I just don't understand,' Potter admitted, looking at his lap. 'If he loved us… if he'd _ever_ loved us… how could he _do_ something like that?'

Albus did not reply but leaned forward, taking the boy in his arms. Potter buried his head in the old man's shoulder, his own quaking with quiet tears. Lupin, still by the hearth, was openly crying as well.

And Severus, despite his growing concern for Albus… felt an strong desire either to vomit or flee from the room. Only Potter's innocent query, still ringing in his head, kept him rooted to his spot.

 _If he loved us… how could he do something like that?_

At last, the pair on the sofa broke apart. Dumbledore conjured a handkerchief and passed it to Potter to wipe his eyes. When he'd finished, the headmaster took each of Potter's hands in turn, healing the little cuts on the palms without a word.

'I'm still cross at you,' Potter told him in a small voice when the headmaster had finished.

'As is your right,' Dumbledore allowed, inclining his head.

'But… thank you, anyway, for giving me some answers,' Potter continued. 'And for… for being here, I guess.'

'Whenever you need me, Harry,' Dumbledore promised, lifting the boy's chin with one finger. 'There is nowhere more important for me to be.'

'It is past dinner hour,' Severus broke in, annoyed. 'If Potter has finished throwing his little tantrum, we ought to head down to the Great Hall.'

'Severus,' Lupin chastised, his voice still thick. Albus gave him a reproachful look, Potter glared, and Severus smirked back.

 _Well… he_ had _done._

'We should be going,' Albus agreed with a wink for Potter. He released the boy's chin and made to stand from his knees.

But the headmaster swayed ominously as soon as he was upright, and Severus felt his heart leap to his throat.

'Albus,' Severus growled in alarm, lunging to steady the wizard by the elbow.

Potter, to his surprise, was nearly as fast to pop up and catch Dumbledore's opposite arm. All the boy's recalcitrance seemed momentarily set aside as he gazed at his mentor with deep concern.

'No need for fuss,' Albus said immediately, detaching himself gently from the boy's grasp and attempting to free his other arm from Severus'. 'I merely stood a touch too quickly, I dare say.'

Though Potter relented, Severus kept an iron grip on the man.

'What's the matter with you?' he demanded, his voice harsher than he'd meant it in his agitation and his unease. 'Are you ill?'

'Perfectly fine, I assure you,' the headmaster said, forcing Severus' hand to release him. 'Just a little tired.'

Severus was sure there was something more in it. In all the years he'd known Albus Dumbledore, he could count the times he'd seen him ill on one hand. The times he'd seen him 'tired' on perhaps less. And he'd _never_ seen him falter on his feet before.

This was Potter's fault, somehow.

Potter… who was watching Severus and the headmaster with wide, wary green eyes.

'Do you want an Invigoration Draught?' Severus asked, still frowning. Lupin pushed a chair forward, but the headmaster waved him off.

'No, thank you,' he said. To both of them, Severus assumed. 'We all just need dinner, I expect.'

'I'm not hungry,' Potter piped up at once. His tone was far less insolent now, but no less definite.

Severus glowered. ' _You_ should eat in your chambers, Albus, if you're so exhausted you cannot stand properly. And Potter,' he turned to scowl at the boy. ' _You_ will be eating in the Great Hall with the rest of your classmates, unless you require a trip to the Hospital Wing.'

'No, sir,' the boy said immediately, looking horrified. 'I – I'll go down to dinner.'

'I'll take you,' Lupin offered, moving forward to guide Potter from the room. 'Severus?'

'I can find the Great Hall on my own, thank you,' Severus ground out.

Lupin shook his head, but pushed the boy toward the door. Potter was dragging his feet.

'Are… are you sure you're ok, Albus?' he asked meekly from the doorframe, looking back at the headmaster.

Dumbledore smiled at him. 'I am perfectly well, Harry. Don't worry,' he told him gently. 'You had better hurry, or you will miss supper.'

Potter gave a tentative half-smile, and allowed the wolf to lead him out.

Severus rounded on the headmaster the moment the door had shut.

'Take the potion, Albus,' he implored again, drawing a phial from his robes that he usually had on hand for the brat's lessons.

'I am fine, Severus, I assure you,' Albus repeated again, though he took the chair Lupin had pushed forward. 'It was a momentary show of age, nothing more.'

Severus ground his teeth. 'Please,' he said, shoving the draught forward.

The headmaster's eyes twinkled. 'You must be worried,' he noted, relenting at last as he took the phial from the Potions Master's outstretch hand. 'To ask so nicely.'

Severus rolled his eyes, but did not comment. Instead, he watched hawk-like until the old man had downed the last of the potion.

'Bleh, disgusting brew,' Albus commented, vanishing the empty phial with a shiver. 'Well,' he said, hopping to his feet, 'We had better be on our way as well. I've asked for pheasant tonight in celebration of the end of term, and I should hate if Hagrid and Argus have already finished it off before I have had the chance to sample.'

Severus was still concerned. He crossed his arms, not moving to follow. 'You are quite sure you're up to it?' he pressed, trying to discern Albus' state. 'I'm sure Minerva could see to the –'

'Relax, child,' the headmaster said. He turned, squeezing Severus clenched arm in comfort. The strength in the gesture reassured Severus… just a little. 'I am _fine_ ,' he promised again. 'And besides, if I absent myself from supper tonight, you can be sure Minerva will fuss the whole of the holiday.'

Severus was about to retort that, perhaps, that was not such a bad outcome… but Albus had already reached the door.

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 29:**

 **Psitomer** : Yay! So good to see you back :) And as a musical theatre child myself, I _never_ think there's such a thing as a bad time for jazz hands. Seeing what you want to see and vengeance v. justice… both big themes of this story, and both things that Snape and Sirius struggle to reconcile with. I think there are times that Snape can see Lily in Harry – few, and far between… but they do flare up occasionally. Most of the time, however, he sees James. Or – far worse, for Snape – he sees bits of the woman he loved, in the face of the man he despised. I agree: the essay assignment was _so_ underhanded and petty. But it goes back to the issue with tunnel vision, I suppose. At least Harry, showing a great deal of wisdom for him, in my opinion, recognises it for the low-blow it is. Glad you liked the Harry/Hermione bit. I think your analysis is spot-on – Hermione doesn't underestimate Harry or Ron's intelligence at all… she's exasperated that they don't always _use_ the brains they were given. And the fit of rage… it's a pivotal moment for little Harry; the weight of disillusionment that tears away the remnants of childhood. Sirius… oh now, you _know_ I can't give that one away! ;) I've already written the relevant sections, however. I think it plays out as it needs to, for the purposes of my story anyway. I suspect there will be an equal amount of thrilled readers and furious ones when we get there, but hopefully it'll be a fun journey either way.

Lol, I like the envisioning of a giant knitting project. Sadly, I am an appalling knitter on my very best day, so I doubt I'll be taking that one on. DIY is something my sister is mad about, actually. She always gifts us homemade things for Christmas. I'm not so talented… but I dabble with easier projects (lanterns and such). I'll try the Coconut oil hint though! Enjoy Chapter 30!

 **BlueWater5** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. As to Remus… it's funny: although I think _Remus_ sees it as he almost killed Snape, I rather think the real villain in that particular tale was Sirius (and perhaps Snape's own curiosity)… Remus couldn't really help his actions at the time. But I agree, I don't think he's really all that surprised at Snape's vindictiveness – he knows Snape hates him, and he knows he's suspicious of him. However, it's against Dumbledore's instruction… so that's something that's both irritating and a bit surprising I suppose. Hope you like Chapter 30!

 **Temerey** : Thanks for your review! Very glad to hear you liked Chapter 29 so much. It's a bit turning point for Harry, and we'll see how that all plays out over the course of the next few chapters. I'll try to keep the updates speedy, and I hope you like Chapter 30!

 **Pia Athena BlackHeart** : Thank you for your review! I'm sorry that it made you cry, but I'm very flattered that you were moved so much! Harry's emotional scenes are always hard on me too – I think I might also have been crying at the end of OOTP (both from the Albus/Harry scene and Sirius's death), so I relate. It's so lovely to hear that you like the stories, and I hope I can keep meeting expectations! I think you'll be happy with the timing on this next update… :) Enjoy Chapter 30!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for reviewing! Yes… Snape just bursts into the party, lol. Classic Snape, I suppose. Glad you are still enjoying the story, and hope you like the continuation!

 **Sevsnape** : Thanks for your review! So glad you're liking the story. Yes… Albus definitely has his due as well, as will be explored this chapter. Poor Albus… he definitely deserves some anger too, but he's trying to balance an awful lot right now!

 **AECM** : Thanks for reviewing! I'm very happy you're still loving it, and hope you had a great New Year as well!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for your review! Yes, I think Remus deserves a bit of this too… particularly in light of his recent distancing tactics. Albus' reaction, and Minerva's, will definitely be explored as well. And Severus… haha, I don't know if it's 'rescuing,' but certainly you can count on Severus to barge in at the awkward moment with potions and semi-reasonable/semi-harsh advice! And Bill… _so_ excited to be finally able to explore that storyline. It will be a fun ride, I'd wager. Enjoy Chapter 30!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thank you for reviewing! I love that you liked the chapter so much – as I too think it's quite a pivotal moment for Harry, and for Remus. Originally, I had titled Chapter 29 'The Betrayal,' so I found your analysis about Harry's reaction being particularly interesting because of _who_ it is he overhears quite poignant. It's a significant part of his reaction, because he _does_ feel that these people have been his family of late, and he can't believe his entire family would lie to him like this. It goes beyond being kept in the dark as a student – this is, to Harry, blood betrayal. And you're right – Harry's reaction (while completely relatable) is _very_ teenager as well… screaming and ranting and pushing yourself to the point where you just don't _care_ what happens next, because you're way off the cliff and you might as well keep falling. It always takes something a bit soft and surprising to break that chain… and here, it's Snape's quiet (and quite honest) admission about Lily's temper.

The wandless lesson was something I really wanted to visit as well, because we haven't seen a whole lot of Harry in lessons this term – they've mostly been summarised. I thought it was important to reveal his progress and have Snape opine on that, at least a bit. And I think Harry _is_ resourceful… not that Snape was wrong, necessarily, to let him work out his own conclusion. Actually, in some ways, that was quite Dumbledore-like of Snape to do.

Apologies for the ending, I know it was cruel… but I haven't kept the wait too long, I hope! We also see some more of Bill this chapter, so I hope you enjoy that!

And thank you for the compliments! You should see my work table… haha, it's legitimately _covered_ in maps, ledgers, character profiles and sketched arcs, earmarked books on mythology, bits and pieces about potions ingredients and wandlore, notes on the properties of wandless magic… basically just heaps of research and semi-OCD preparatory materials, all of which I hope I'll get to include at some point. James thinks I'm mad. But the truth is, if it's just on your computer, sometimes you forget to plot it out correctly.

 **Guest** (First Guest Reviewer): Thanks for reviewing! Glad I could make your New Year a bit brighter :). It's so nice to hear that you're enjoying the story so much, and I hope you like Chapter 30!

 **Guest** (Second Guest Reviewer): Thank you for your review! Very happy you're liking the story – and I _do_ apologise for the ending. I promise we'll get the continuation now in Chapter 30. I tried to keep the update as speedy as I could!

 **Me again** (Chapter 20 reviewer): Interesting analysis… and not incorrect in its assumptions. Of course, I won't comment on whether you are right to dismiss Peter or who are mysterious kidnapper and/or poisoner was… but it's good to be speculating. :)

 **StormOwlRage** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm very glad to hear you've been enjoying the two stories so much, and very happy to see your message! They'll be at least seven in all, so I hope you continue to like the books as our journey moves forward. As to your query… oh yes, I can promise I will…. We have already started laying the groundwork for incorporating Grindelwald's 'Sight' (both in Part I and in Part II), as well as his manipulative nature, and I was quite excited to see it explored by JKR both in _Fantastic Beasts_ and in subsequent comments. And that will _definitely_ be playing out over the course of this series, in both present and past. There is some Grindelwald in this chapter and much to come – and the Grindelwald/Albus story should come to a head in Parts III and IV.

 **Me** (Guest Reviewer, 3 Jan): Thank you for reviewing! Re-reads are an excellent idea… there's always bits and pieces hiding that might be important later… but I'm quite glad you are enjoying the story so much! Hope you like where we go next.


	31. The Cat Among the Pixies

**A/N:** First off, thank you to everyone who reviewed for Chapter 30! My responses follow the new chapter.

I know this particular instalment has been a bit long in coming and I do apologise. Quite truthfully, it has been largely completed for over a week now… but I was held up on two major dilemmas. 1) I could _not_ find a title that suited, which was related to issue 2) I had originally envisioned this chapter would take us through the holidays… but I found upon editing that it served its purpose better if I ended after the Sirius perspective that now closes. Fair warning that it _does_ make for a rather depressing end to this particular instalment… but I thought altering the tone into the Christmas/New Year portion just didn't feel quite right. Ergo, you will get the holidays next time, and the slightly depressing bits this time. Apologies.

Enjoy 'The Cat Among the Pixies,' and **please read and review**!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **Chapter 31: The Cat Among the Pixies**

'Harry!'

Hermione's arms were about his neck the moment Harry sank down between her and Ron at the Gryffindor table. She was quite white in the face – Ron just as pale beside her. He patted her on the back, but the embrace was perfunctory. He was too busy eying the high table to pay much mind.

'We looked for you in the Tower,' she told him, releasing her chokehold, 'But nobody'd seen you. I was about to go to Professor McGonagall if you hadn't turned up for supper.'

 _Minerva_ …

Harry shook himself from his scan of the professors for a moment, remembering that he hadn't yet spoken to her. And, of course, he had to tell them…

'Listen,' he said in a low voice, breaking Hermione's continued chatter. 'You two didn't tell anyone you about this afternoon, did you?'

Ron and Hermione exchanged nervous looks. 'No, mate,' Ron said back in a whisper. 'We wouldn't have –'

'Good,' Harry interrupted curtly. 'I told Remus and Snape you'd overheard Minerva and the others… and that you told me about it when you got back. Just… just stick with that, all right? In case they ask you…'

'You talked to Lupin?' Ron asked, surprised. 'And _Snape_?'

'Yes,' Harry said shortly.

'Why?' Ron asked in shock. At Harry's glare he edited: 'Lupin, yeah, alright. But _Snape_?'

'I went to ask Remus about everything. Snape came in the middle. I didn't plan on that bit,' Harry explained.

Hermione was frowning as she scrutinised him. 'What did Professor Lupin say, Harry?' she asked tentatively.

Harry felt a bit queasy again thinking about it. 'Later,' he evaded quickly.

'Why do you keep looking up there?' Hermione enquired, watching Harry's eyes scan the high table again. 'Did you and Professor Lupin get in an argument or –'

'I'm looking for Albus,' Harry explained impatiently. _He's still not here_ …

'Dumbledore?' Ron repeated in bewilderment.

'I think he's ill or something,' Harry answered distractedly. 'He'd gone a bit –'

But he cut himself off as the headmaster himself entered the Hall, closely followed by Snape. Albus was still looking a touch paler than usual… but only, Harry thought, because he was expecting it. Dumbledore took his usual gilded chair with as much energy as he normally showed, and gave Harry the shadow of a wink when he spotted him in the crowd.

'Why do you think something's the matter with him?' Hermione asked in concern. She squinted up at the high table herself, following Harry's gaze.

He shrugged, looking down again. 'There was an odd thing in Remus' office… but I don't know. He says he's just tired.'

'Looks fine to me,' Ron noted, tapping the table with his fingers. 'I wish they'd hurry it up – I'm starving.'

'You ate half of Honeydukes,' Hermione pointed out waspishly. 'You ought to be –'

'Excellent!' Ron sighed in relief, as the usual end-of-term spread appeared. He dived immediately for a platter of buttered rolls, and Hermione gave up her lecture with a huff.

Harry wasn't hungry. He piled his plate with a few different choices to keep Hermione from fussing; but he picked unenthusiastically at the food, making shapes in his mash with the fork. He could feel the eyes of both his friends on him, but even Hermione did not comment on his lack of appetite. When he glanced up as the pudding appeared, he caught the pair of them having silent conversation over his head. He cleared his throat. Hermione began spooning pudding quickly onto her plate, while Ron's ears went pink.

Harry felt like he should be angry about it… but he hardly had any more energy for anger tonight. Hours and hours of shouting and tears and barrages of painful information had quite drained the instinct to lash out.

So he sighed instead.

'I'm not going to go mad,' he told them bluntly. 'So you can stop whatever secret plot your cooking up.'

They both looked guilty. 'It's just… it was a lot, what happened this afternoon. Anyone would be upset – overwhelmed, even. Don't… don't you _want_ to talk about it, Harry?' Hermione asked in a small voice.

'Not tonight,' Harry said. He pushed away his untouched food and went back to trying to discern Dumbledore's state, just to avoid their eyes. 'I just… I can't anymore today, all right? I just can't, Hermione.'

Hermione looked tearful, but she nodded. Ron patted him awkwardly on the shoulder.

'You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want. But… you should know you look awful, mate,' Ron told him honestly. 'And we're not plotting… but Hermione and I were talking on the walk back, and we think…' he swallowed, looking over at Hermione for help.

'We just don't want you to do something you'll regret, Harry,' she supplied in that same nervous voice.

Harry pulled his attention from the staff table at this, turning to stare at the pair of them. 'Like what?' he challenged in a low hiss.

'Like going off after Black,' Ron said bluntly.

Harry set his jaw. He did not say anything.

'You _wouldn't_ , would you?' Hermione pleaded, laying a hand on his forearm. 'Because it _isn't_ worth it Harry, it isn't,' she insisted. 'That's exactly what he wants… you'd be playing right into his hands if you do.'

'And he isn't worth dying for,' Ron added seriously.

Harry stared between them. He knew what they wanted to hear… what his next line was supposed to be. But it was as if they didn't understand at all.

'He killed my dad first, did you know?' he asked in a whisper. Hermione's hand stiffened on his arm. Ron paled a shade or two.

'What?' he asked in a gruff voice.

'Voldemort,' Harry explained, ignoring both their flinches. 'When he came to the house that night. My dad tried to stop him; to give my mum and me time to get away. He told her to take me and run. But Voldemort killed him, and he came after us in moments.'

'Harry…' Hermione began. But he ignored her.

'She took me to the nursery,' he continued mercilessly. 'She tried to shield me from him; begged Voldemort to kill her and leave me be. She told him she'd do anything… but he just killed her too. Got her out of the way. Then he came for me…'

Ron looked ill; Hermione deeply unnerved. The merriment and bustle of the feast surrounded them, but the celebration was oddly muted in their tiny bubble at the end of the long Gryffindor table. Several flakes of enchanted snow had fallen into his pumpkin juice before Harry finally spoke again.

'Do you want to know how I know that?' he asked, studying their terrified faces. 'Do you want to know _how_ I know exactly how it happened… exactly what they said in their final moments?'

Neither replied, watching him in fear.

'Because that's what I can _hear_ – every time a Dementor gets too near me,' Harry finished in a harsh whisper. 'That's the memory I get to relive: the moments that replay over and over in my mind. It's why – according to Dumbledore – they affect me so badly.'

'Harry,' Ron began. 'That's… I'm…'

'It's _his_ fault, Ron,' Harry said, cutting him off. He glanced to his other side to include Hermione too. 'It's _Black's_ fault. He was my godfather. He was their best friend and their Secret-Keeper. And he sold us all out. He sent Voldemort after them. I hear their deaths… over and over and over again… because of what he did. Because _Black_ betrayed them.'

Harry stood up from the table. He was no longer interested in pretending he was planning to eat anything tonight.

'Now you tell me,' he added, leaning back over the bench to whisper at their ears. 'What would you do… if it had been your family?'

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Minerva frowned as she watched Harry push his food about his plate. Most of the students were chatty and windswept tonight: excited by the end of term, the prospect of the impending holiday and the day spent in the village. She knew Harry was likely to have been a bit bored on his own at the castle, but she hadn't expected this level of melancholy. He looked drained.

'Do you think he's unwell?' she asked, leaning over slightly to whisper at Albus' ear. She daren't speak too loudly, for the Minister for Magic had joined them at the feast tonight and was seated on the headmaster's other side. But Fudge, luckily, was distracted: waving pompously at some of the students in the crowd and occasionally tipping his bowler hat, he did not seem to be paying them any mind.

'Harry?' the headmaster replied, following her gaze. He sighed. 'He is not ill, no… I shall explain after the feast.'

Minerva's eyes narrowed. 'What –'

'After the feast, Minnie,' Albus repeated. He too, now she looked more closely, seemed sad and haunted.

Minerva frowned but went back to her dinner. Down the table, she could see Remus was hardly touching more than Harry had, gazing into his goblet of mead with eyes miles away. Severus, on the other side, was glancing repeatedly at the centre chair with an almost angry expression.

She'd missed something.

When the children were dismissed to bed and the Minister had taken his leave, she turned expectantly to Albus. Severus was hovering too, still glowering. Albus shot him an odd look before nodding Minerva out of the Hall. He did not speak until they'd reached his circular office.

'What is it?' she asked as soon as he'd closed the door. 'What's happened?'

Albus sighed. 'Today in the village, did you meet some of the others in the Three Broomsticks?'

The question took Minerva by surprise. 'I did,' she confirmed. 'You'd asked me to cover you with the Minister, and I brought Filius along. Hagrid met us unexpectedly and fell into conversation with Cornelius, so he joined as well. Though why he still condescends to speak to the man after the tosh that lot put him through last term –'

'You were overheard,' Albus interrupted quietly.

Minerva paused midstream, frowning. 'I –'

But it came back to her then… what they'd been discussing over drinks. She clapped a hand to her mouth in horror.

'No…' she breathed quietly. 'No, Harry wasn't… Harry isn't allowed in the village without supervision. How could he have –'

'Even walls have ears, Minerva,' Albus said heavily. 'Ours especially. You know that. Though in this case, it seems the ears were a touch more physical. According to Severus, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger were seated at a table nearby. They repeated your conversation nearly word for word.'

Minerva felt her stomach drop out. 'Harry…' she hissed. 'He wasn't supposed to… we should have told him, Albus.'

'Yes,' the headmaster agreed. He sank onto the sofa, rubbing at his eyes beneath their half-moon spectacles. 'I have thought of little else since the moment Remus came to get me this evening. But what is done cannot be undone. He knows now. Or, at least, he knows of Black's true relationship with his family, and he knows of Black's role in the Fidelius Charm.'

'What happened?' Minerva asked hoarsely. And she listened with a sinking heart as Albus relayed the events of the afternoon.

'I cannot believe I didn't check the surroundings…' she chided herself angrily. 'The Three Broomsticks… of course there were bound to be students about. I just assumed…'

'It was unfortunate timing,' the headmaster agreed. 'But not entirely your fault, Minerva. And perhaps it is for the best overall. At the very least, we know where we stand. Harry must be given time to work through everything.'

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Many hours after the end of term feast, Harry still lay awake. He traced patterns on his curtains, trying to stem the flood of thoughts racing through his mind. He had pretended to be asleep when Ron entered the room for the night, rather than answering more questions. He was sure the charade had not fooled his friend, but Ron did not force the issue. Nor had Hermione made an appearance. The dormitory was in near silence: the occasional snore from Neville's bed or the rustling of sheets as someone shifted the only disturbance in the night. Harry liked the silence for its privacy, but he almost wished for _something_ to distract him.

Unable to fall asleep, Harry finally climbed carefully out of his four-poster. None of the others stirred as he crept across the floor in his bare feet. He thought maybe he'd just go sit by the fire for a while… it had to be better than staring endlessly at his hangings.

He pulled the door ajar by degree, then nearly swore aloud as something furry brushed against his toes, making him jump.

'Oh, no you don't!' he whispered, snatching at the cat as Crookshanks made to streak through the cracked door. The animal gave an irritated hiss, but allowed Harry to scoop him up.

'I reckon Ron might be right about you, you know?' Harry told the cat after he'd safely shut the door to the dormitory again. 'This castle's full of mice. Find another to go and chase, why don't you?'

He could have sworn Crookshanks gave him a reproachful look as he carried him firmly down the spiralling stairs.

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Minerva had left the headmaster hours ago, but she could not sleep. Guilt and worry kept her from rest, wondering after Harry and cursing herself for her carelessness in the village. At last, to put her mind at ease, she summoned Mina and asked her to check in on the child. The elf reappeared a few moments later, looking nervous.

'What is it?' Minerva asked, already sitting up in the bed.

'Master Harry does not sleep either, Mistress,' the elf said sadly. 'Mina is checking the beds, but Master Harry is not there. So Mina looks in the common room, Mistress. He is being there – by the fire.'

Minerva frowned. 'Thank you,' she said with a nod. The elf vanished with a muted crack.

Not wasting another moment in indecision, Minerva got out of the bed and tied her long tartan dressing gown around her waist.

The Common Room was silent as she climbed awkwardly through the portrait hole. Harry did not turn as she entered. He was perched in one of the cosy armchairs next to the hearth, staring unseeingly into the low-burning fire as he stroked a huge, ginger-furred cat. The animal's yellow eyes tracked her as she approached.

'Harry?' she called softly from a few feet away, not wanting to startle him out of his trance.

He jumped slightly anyway, and the cat gave a noise of protest as Harry's hand clutched instinctively in its long fur.

'Hi,' he whispered upon seeing Minerva. He pulled his gaze resolutely back to the fire again.

The professor hesitated. This was not territory she'd ever navigated before.

With a small sigh, she pulled her wand, summoning a second chair closer to the boy's. She sat so that they were nearly knee-to-knee, and patted the top of the cat's head in turn. The animal was still gazing untrustingly at her.

'What's he called?' she asked.

'Crookshanks,' Harry replied to the flames. 'He's Hermione's.'

'Is she up as well?'

Harry shook his head. 'Crookshanks sneaks up to our dormitory,' he explained. 'Ron reckons he's got it in for Scabbers.'

'Hmm.'

They sat in silence for several moments. The cat, apparently deciding she wasn't much of a threat, began to purr under her touch.

'Our cat was ginger too,' Harry said suddenly. It was whispered, just as all his speech had been tonight. But his jaw hardened just a fraction as he said it.

Minerva paused in her ministrations to Crookshanks. 'Yes,' she said quietly. 'Darby. He was your mother's from her own days at Hogwarts. He was sweet.'

'I suppose he died,' Harry mumbled. 'Just like everyone else that night… everyone except me.'

'No,' Minerva corrected gently. 'Batty took him in, actually. She kept him the next eight years. He lived a good long life.'

'I can't remember him,' Harry said. 'I keep trying… keep going over and over the scraps of memory. And I don't remember.'

'You were very small, Harry,' Minerva reminded him. 'How could you?'

'Remus said he was there all the time,' Harry muttered. 'All the time. And I have the photo from the wedding… but I don't _remember_ him. I thought, maybe, if I did…'

He turned to face her for the first time. His eyes were not watery, but there was a hollow, almost deadness about his expression that frightened her more than tears. And Minerva knew they were no longer speaking of the cat.

'I am so sorry, Harry,' she said. Her own voice was uncharacteristically shaky. ' _So_ sorry. This was… you should not have found out like this. We should have told you together – Albus and I. We should have told you differently. I was careless. You have every right to be angry with me.'

She laid a hand gently on the boy's arm, and took it as a good sign that he did not flinch away.

'I'm not,' Harry said quietly. 'Well... I _was_ ,' he amended. 'I was angry with you, with Albus, with Remus… with everyone, I suppose. I still am… maybe. I'm still angry you didn't _tell_ me – that I found out about it the way I did. But mostly now I'm just angry with _him_.' His eyes blazed with the force of the words.

Minerva squeezed her hand on his forearm. 'We _all_ are, I assure you,' she swore, her voice returned to a shadow of its usual briskness. 'He deserves Azkaban, for what he did to you and your family.'

'He deserves _nothing_ ,' Harry countered fiercely. 'He deserves to die. Like Peter Pettigrew. Like my parents. He should rot for what he did to them.'

'The headmaster would tell you there are fates much worse than death,' Minerva noted. 'Myself… I am not sure that I agree.'

Harry gave just a fraction of a smile at the endorsement. She squeezed his arm again.

'You really should get some rest,' she said gently. 'It's well after two in the morning. There will be time enough to talk over the holidays. With me and with Albus, should you wish to.'

But Harry chewed his lip. 'Is he alright?' he asked.

Minerva frowned. 'What do you mean?'

'Albus,' Harry clarified. 'He was… off, earlier today. He went all pale. Then he almost fell over in Remus' sitting room. Snape was furious, but Albus just said he was tired.'

Minerva's frown deepened. 'Tired?' she repeated, releasing her hold on Harry as she thought back to what Albus had been like when she'd seen him earlier in the evening.

Harry nodded, still worrying his lower lip. 'Maybe you should check in on him,' he suggested innocently, climbing to his feet as Crookshanks leapt lightly onto the floor. 'I'll be fine.'

Minerva stood as well, sending the chair back with a flick from her wand. She considered Harry for a moment: so small still, in his bare feet on the hearthrug.

'Will you sleep?' she asked with a beady eye.

He hesitated.

She sighed. 'Put these on before you catch cold,' the professor insisted, twirling her wand through the air again to conjure a thick pair of slippers. 'And come along,' she beckoned imperiously.

Harry followed without a word as she led him swiftly through the portrait hole and up the darkened corridors. Neither spoke as they made the journey, until Minerva muttered the password at the gargoyle. She was irritated – but unsurprised – to see Albus sat at his polished desk, bent over an ancient-looking parchment. He vanished it almost immediately as the door to his office opened.

Minerva took one look at him and chided herself royally for not spotting it before.

'Minerva – and Harry,' Albus began, rising from the chair at once and looking deeply concerned. 'Good gracious, child, it is very late. Are you alright?'

'He most certainly is not, and neither are you, Albus,' Minerva said sternly, sizing him up. 'You look dead on your feet. Upstairs, the both of you.'

'Minerva, I –' Albus began in protest, but she cut him off with a fierce glare.

'Harry isn't keen on rest either,' she informed him. 'But you're both likely to come down ill if you keep up this nonsense. Staying up until you keel over will not aid in the recapture of Sirius Black, nor will it make the Christmas holidays at all enjoyable. Please, come to bed.'

Harry frowned. 'I really don't think I can sleep,' he admitted.

'I will bring you a dreamless sleep potion if you need it,' Minerva promised more gently. 'But you need to sleep, Harry. As do you, Albus,' she added with a bit more force. 'Harry tells me you haven't been well yourself.'

Albus shot a half-accusatory glance at Harry before responding. 'I am fine, Minerva,' he insisted. 'A mere moment of age.'

She studied his face sceptically. 'You look as though you haven't rested in weeks,' she disagreed. 'I can't believe I didn't spot it sooner. Come.'

Cowed, or perhaps simply out of curtesy for Harry's wellbeing, the headmaster put a hand on the child's shoulder and led him gently up the stairs. Minerva followed them all the way to the boy's usual room, and turned down the covers expectantly.

'You – into bed this instant,' she told Harry, eying him beadily until he'd pulled the blanket up. 'I'll bring you a spoonful of Dreamless Sleep. And Albus,' she rounded on the headmaster, 'You set him an example and get to bed yourself, before I call Poppy up here to dose you both.'

The headmaster bent to adjust the blankets and brushed Harry's fringe back gently. Minerva bustled from the room to retrieve the promised potion, and the boy was asleep in moments.

One down, she marched Albus to the largest bedchamber. 'In,' she commanded, arms crossed. The headmaster was smiling slightly, but he made no comment as he followed her instruction.

'Will you be joining?' he asked when he'd settled, eyes twinkling with supressed mirth.

Minerva huffed. 'How else am I to ensure you won't hurry off again as soon as I'm out of hearing range?' she challenged. 'Budge up.'

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Albus' smile widened as she tossed the dressing gown aside onto a bench by the window and crawled in beside him, but she did not return it.

'Why did you not tell me you'd been having trouble sleeping?' Minerva asked him quietly when they'd both settled into the sheets and the Transfiguration professor had doused the lights. 'And don't deny it,' she added quickly, as the headmaster immediately opened his mouth to do so. 'You could not get _this_ ragged from one difficult afternoon, even one as trying as this has been.'

Albus sighed. 'I have had a few weeks of slight insomnia,' he admitted. 'Nothing I cannot handle, of course.'

'Oh yes, by the looks of things you've handled it wonderfully,' Minerva scoffed. But she softened in spite of herself. 'What is it?' she enquired more solicitously. 'Harry?'

He hesitated. He could not tell her. Or, at least, he could not tell her all. He could not tell her about the Horcruxes… or the Hallows… he could not tell her about Gellert.

But he would not lie.

'In part,' Albus admitted with a sigh. 'He said something this evening… it was innocent, I suppose, but it did remind me…'

'Said what?' Minerva asked curiously, propping herself up on one elbow to see his face.

'He told me to tell the truth.'

Minerva scoffed. 'Oh Albus,' she chastised, 'If a bit of cheek is going to send you off the rails…'

'It was not what he said, precisely,' Albus continued slowly. 'It was the manner in which he said it. It was a command, Minerva. It was unforgiving. His magic was in turmoil around him with the extent of his distress… and for just a moment…'

He paused. He did not want to recount the scarlet gleam he'd thought he'd seen in Harry's eyes as he'd thrown the words. He did not want to scare her.

'He was upset,' Minerva soothed, taking his hand. 'It's no wonder.'

'Yes,' Albus agreed. 'But I have heard the order before. From Tom Riddle. The first time I ever met him, in fact.'

Minerva's fingers clenched over his own.

'Harry is not You Know Who,' she breathed quietly. 'I… I understand the distress, of course. But it's coincidence, Albus. You know that.'

'Perhaps,' Albus said uncertainly. When she still looked frightened, he hurried on. 'Oh, I do not think Harry is Dark,' he amended quickly. 'No, far from it. However, the incident highlighted certain risks. There is more to lightness and darkness than tendencies; more than good character and bad. And I have already made so many mistakes where Harry is concerned…'

'As have we all,' Minerva reminded him.

Albus sighed again. 'Harry… Sirius Black… there is much to worry about in the present. But more than that, I think, is that I cannot shake the impending feeling that we are closer to war again than I would prefer. Harry is still so young… he will not be ready, should Voldemort return now. It is already next to impossible to keep him from harm, and we have not yet that obstacle to deal with. And meanwhile, I am growing older every day. We are running too tight to both ends of the clock, and he has so much left to learn. There may not be…'

Minerva cut him off with an odd noise, her own face looking a bit pale. In spite of her earlier lectures, she sat up against the headboard and brightened the candles, frowning.

'Albus, stop,' she said, perhaps more harshly than she'd meant. 'This sort of thinking is not like you. There is nothing to suggest You Know Who's return is any closer today than it was last year. Sirius Black is known to be in the area, so he cannot be with his master. There is time yet for… for Harry,' she finished with a deep swallow. And Albus could tell flashes of the prophecy he had recounted all those months ago were echoing in her mind – as they had been in his own for weeks.

'And as for you,' she added, giving just a flash of a smile, 'You have been an old man for decades,' she teased him. 'Age has not yet slowed you down. And Merlin, Armando was well over 300 when he passed this position to you,' she reminded. 'I refuse to entertain the notion of your –' she swallowed hard again – 'I refuse to discuss it. And you should not dwell on it either.'

'Death does not frighten me,' Albus assured her truthfully. 'At the right moment, death should be a release: a promise of what is to come after. We are none of us meant to walk the earth forever. No, it is not the knowledge that I will one day die which keeps me awake, Minnie,' he corrected softly. 'It is the fear that I am not doing what I must while I am here… or that I will leave Harry unprotected. There is no cure,' he added with a slight smile, as Minerva started to speak. 'We cannot tell what the future will bring, and it is empty to promise otherwise. In any case, I suspect it is not a fear which is unique to myself.'

'No,' Minerva agreed. There was a tenderness in her expression as she stroked a hand lightly over his cheek. 'It's precisely how I felt myself today – that I'd made an irreversible error. I expect this is how true parenting would feel… to be constantly worried that you are going wrong, or that you will be responsible when something catastrophic occurs.' She sighed. 'It's different than I'd anticipated,' she admitted. 'I've always felt protective of my students, of course –'

'That is more of an understatement than the day Professor Kettleburn described the engorged Ashwinder he provided for the _Fountain of Fair Fortune_ as a rather interestingly coloured worm,' Albus quipped, thinking back on all the heated exchanges he had arbitrated between Minerva and Severus over the years.

She snorted. 'Possibly. All the Heads of House feel a measure of protectiveness, as I am sure you remember. It's part of our duty, and at times it's stressful in and of itself. But it is not the same, with Harry. I suppose it never really was, but in the past year or so…'

'Quite,' Albus agreed. 'Perhaps we would be better at this, had either of us had children of our own. Or perhaps it is simply because Harry comes with his own unique set of complications.'

Minerva shifted against him, laying her head against his chest. He dimmed the candles again as they relaxed slightly.

'When my brother Malcolm and his wife were expecting Ophelia,' Minerva recalled after a moment, 'He was a mess. Our own father was wonderful, in his way… but he was a Muggle and, obviously, he did not take an active role in raising us from a magical perspective. Malcolm wrote my mother while I was staying over the holidays, begging for help. My mother wrote all her advice on parenting into a letter.'

'That poor owl,' Albus murmured with a small smile.

Minerva shook her head. 'Oh no,' she corrected. 'The letter was only one sentence and a signature.'

Albus tried to turn his neck, looking down at the top of her head. She bent hers back so they could lock eyes.

'What did she say?' he asked curiously.

'You can come back from almost anything; but to come back, you must be there.'

To his surprise, for the first time in weeks, Albus Dumbledore slept soundly.

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The forest was freezing. Predictable, maybe, given the heavy fall of snow and the steadily dropping temperatures that heralded the coming of Christmas. Ice glistened from the branches of high evergreens like thousands of diamond shards. Even with his thick fur and the forest's protection, Sirius was chilled to the bone.

He wondered if he dared to spend another night in the Shack instead. He'd done it four times now, when the bitter winds and icy snows had made it impossible to find refuge even in the enchanted trees. The place was just as he'd remembered it, though covered in dust and with the definite aura of disuse. He'd half-expected to find some trace of Remus' return to the castle the first time he chanced the journey. But there were no signs at all that the werewolf had resumed his isolations. Sirius supposed they'd found another solution, so many years later. Perhaps Dumbledore had warded a corner of the castle instead.

This close to the full moon, however, Sirius felt too skittish to take the risk. If Remus _did_ happen upon the shack again, he would be able to spot a recent intrusion. Even though he'd confined his nights to the broken down sitting room in the lower part of the house, the disturbance in the dust patterns were inevitable. And Remus, transformed, would certainly be able to catch his scent on the slashed-apart sofa or threadbare hearthrug.

Sirius could see the school from his spot tonight on the edge of the trees, darkened save for a flickering light in what he knew to be the headmaster's tower. He'd stayed close, hoping the cat might visit again. The cat which he suspected was _not_ a cat. Or, at least, not entirely. He thought perhaps it had Kneazle ancestry.

Highly suspicious and intelligent, the cat had taken an immediate dislike to him when they'd encountered each other late one November night in the grounds. Sirius had nearly run for it, certain the animal would attack… but some instinct told him to stand his ground. The cat had sniffed at him, bottlebrush tail aloft and quivering, for a good five minutes. Then he'd darted away again.

But he'd come back. Many times, now. It took weeks… but, slowly, the cat began to trust him. It came every few days, and they prowled together through the edges of the forest and over the darkened grounds. It wasn't the same as human company… but it was far better than total seclusion. And eventually, he'd managed to communicate his purpose to the animal.

That had been the most difficult part. The cat could tell he was no ordinary dog, of that Sirius had been sure from their first meeting. But the cat was not human. And that made things tricky. When Sirius was in his Padfoot form, he could communicate easily with other dogs; could bark, growl, raise his hackles… it was a base instinct, in this form. And they'd bumped along just fine as the Marauders, but they knew each other so well. They could communicate without words; operate in perfect unity. It was easy enough to work with gestures or the limited vocal noises he could make as an animal… but it would take more than that to turn his new companion into an ally.

Sirius didn't really know how it had worked, precisely. He knew it was something close to mind magic… perhaps a crude form of Legilimency. He'd never really learned much true Legilimency before. He supposed he would have, if he'd been able to complete his qualifications to the Auror department, but of course he'd never had the chance. Maybe he'd been able to will the magic to work for him, sloppy as he knew his efforts must have been. Or, perhaps, it only worked only because of the intuitive nature of kneazles – who were well known for their ability to sense the thoughts and natures of other beings. Either way, they'd managed it. And the cat was trying to aid him.

Which was why he'd taken to hovering on the edge of the grounds, though he knew it exponentially increased the likelihood that he might be caught. He watched, and he waited… and he hoped every night that the cat would bring him Peter.

Except tonight. Tonight, he had a new favour to ask of the animal.

The scroll was wedged tightly in the crook of a nearby oak tree, where he'd shoved it to keep it from the elements. He'd been able to nick it from the edge of the paddock behind Hagrid's hut, after a careless O.W.L. student had left it behind. Then, in his most daring move yet, he'd stolen into the gamekeeper's hut itself last Wednesday, when Hagrid took his boarhound for a stroll by the lake. The animal had gone mad when he'd scented him on their return… Sirius had heard him even deep in the forest… but it had been worth it for the ink and quill.

He wasn't going to let another Christmas pass him by.

 _'Lily will hex you,' Marley opined from her place in the corner. 'Ten galleons on the Horn Tongue.'_

 _She was perched precariously on the edge of the slightly-peeling countertop, kicking her bare heels lightly off the wooden cabinet below while she munched on apple. Sirius looked up from his contemplation of the tableful of potential gifts with a smirk._

 _'Lily loves me,' he said confidently. 'And she loves Christmas.'_

 _'Does she love her house?' Marley quipped back. 'Because I reckon she'll be lucky it stays standing if you give the baby all this rubbish.'_

 _'It's been standing for centuries,' Sirius countered as he bent to examine the cage of miniature unicorn models he'd bought off a trader in Hogsmeade, 'And James and I lived there together before Harry happened, remember? If it survived us, it can survive a five-month-old.'_

 _'Miracle,' Marley jibed. 'And anyway, I made a promise. Told her I'd keep you to five at a max, and nothing living. So you're going to have to rein it in, Father Christmas.'_

 _Sirius' face fell. 'You went behind my back?' he asked in a wounded voice._

 _She shrugged. 'Hags before Shags, as it were,' she reminded him. 'Lily ranks first.'_

 _At his crestfallen look, she giggled. 'You prat. She came to me. Seemed to think you might go overboard for some reason…'_

 _'But… I'm his godfather,' Sirius pointed out, quite truthfully stunned._

 _'Yes… not his_ fairy _godfather, as she put it.'_

 _Sirius looked up with a frown. 'What in Merlin's name is a_ fairy _godfather?'_

 _Marley shrugged, though her eyes were mischievous. 'That's what Lily called it,' she explained. 'Something about a fairy that gives children exactly what they want with a wand, just because they ask for it. It's a Muggle legend, apparently.'_

 _'Fairies can't wield wands,' Sirius pointed out. 'Can't do much of anything, really, except twinkle and preen.'_

 _Marley rolled her eyes. 'I_ know _that,' she said patronisingly. 'It's just what they say, apparently. I don't know. They make dreams come true or something. Or they just indulge children because it amuses them.'_

 _'So… like Muggle Dumbledores with wings?' Sirius offered. Marley giggled._

 _'Mental Muggle stories…' he went on with a shake of his head. 'A fairy godfather… You'd be better off with a pixie. At least they can be a laugh.'_

 _'Closer to you, in any case,' Marley retorted. She crossed her legs. 'But I guess they're supposed to be fairy god_ mothers _, anyway. So you don't really fit the part. Though if you carry on with the forty-five minute routines in the loo every morning…'_

 _'Oi, it takes work to look like this,' Sirius countered in mock offence. He tossed his shaggy hair for effect._

 _She snorted, clutching a hand over her mouth to keep from spraying the room with bits of chewed apple. Sirius laughed, pushing back from the table to take her in again. His eyes raked suggestively up from her crimson toes to her face._

 _She was slightly mussed – in that carefree way that spoke of a lazy morning in intimate company. She was wearing one of his overlong shirts that was falling off her shoulders and riding up to show pink knickers as she rocked on the counter. Her long hair was tied in a loose plait, a few curls escaping. Though Marley was always impeccably put-together outside the house, he'd grown used to seeing her like this in private._

 _Sirius thought he might even like this version better._

 _'Perv,' she chided lightly, flicking the apple core at his face and pulling down the hem of the teasing shirt._

 _'Wear trousers next time, and I'll behave,' he challenged as he batted the apple away with a playful grunt._

 _His icebox and cupboards had undergone a lot of change too, since Marley had started staying more frequently. They were bursting with what Remus had dubbed 'healthy options, well done you!' and James labelled knowingly 'witch food.'_

 _Sirius stuck resolutely with his fry-up. But he kept the fruits and the odd-shaped greens around anyway… because he liked that she wanted to stay to breakfast when he had them._

 _He looked back at the pile of toys again and ran a hand through his hair._

 _'So, what do you reckon?' he asked, leaning back in his chair. 'Can't get away with the lot then?'_

 _'Mmm… best not risk it,' she opined, popping off the counter to come and survey the groaning table. 'He's not going to be able to use half this anyway.'_

 _She passed him a cup of steaming tea, and began rummaging through the piles. 'A broomstick, Siri? Really?'_

 _'Best model for the under-fives,' Sirius countered defensively, snatching the plastic broom back as though she'd threatened to burn it. 'He'll love it.'_

 _'He can't even walk,' Marley reasoned._

 _Sirius frowned as he set the broom onto the corner of free table-top in front of him._

 _'I just want it to be special for him,' he said quietly, fingering the toddler-sized seat. 'It's his first Christmas. It should be exciting. It should be magical. And with everything going on… who knows whether…'_

 _He trailed off, but he didn't have to finish. The memories of the past year were louder than their own voices in the tiny kitchen. Sean's death at New Year… the Prewett brothers' only last month… the McAllisters, the Bones, the Larsons, the Clendenons, the Marwoods… And nobody had seen or heard from Regulus in more than fourteen months._

 _Sirius' breath hitched in spite of himself._

 _Though he hadn't seen her come round, Marley was suddenly behind his chair. He felt her hair tickle his neck as she bent to kiss his cheek from behind; her hands running over his shoulders and chest. It wasn't an invitation this time. It wasn't their usual game. This time, her hands offered only comfort._

 _He clutched one in his own._

 _'They'll be more, Sirius,' she promised softly. 'They'll be years more. You don't have to cram it all into one Christmas day. Not for Harry… not for any of us.'_

 _It was an empty promise, and they both knew it. But it comforted him all the same._

 _'Maybe save the broom for his first birthday?' he suggested, trying to recapture the light-hearted morning._

 _'An excellent idea,' she approved. She kissed him once on the top of the head, patted his shoulder, and pushed away again._

 _'Now, what say we pick the five best then, and crack on? I promised Lils we'd meet them at the market at noon, and it's coming on eleven already.'_

 _He watched her sorting through the piles of parcels with a goofy half-smile. And his thoughts wandered in spite of himself… drifting to impermissible netherworlds… where perhaps, one day, they too might be celebrating a baby's first Christmas… might be choosing godparents and regulating brooms…_

He'd given the toy broom to Harry for his first birthday instead, just as they'd agreed. She'd been right, as she so often was. His godson was much better equipped to seat it by then. Lily, who'd appreciated the delay nearly as much as she'd appreciated Marlene's refereeing the gift brigade, sent photos. And he wished Marley had been around to see them.

But she'd been wrong about the time.

There would be no happy ending, for them. No tow-headed children with his grey eyes and Marley's dimples, running and laughing with Harry as they grew. No house in the country with a meadow they could play quidditch in. No weddings.

Just funerals. Just emptiness.

He'd known it going in. 'Just shagging,' she'd called it, that first night. And it was… wasn't it? Yet that couldn't explain why he'd put a preservation charm on the pillow to keep it smelling like her forever.

He hoped she was in heaven now, if Heaven was a place at all. He knew she couldn't be in Hell. Or he'd have found her by now.

Hell wasn't a fiery pit of demons and darkness. Hell was screaming yourself awake: alone, covered in sweat and tears. Knowing your friends were dead. Knowing the woman you had dreamed of would never return to you.

So he hoped that, somewhere, Marley, Sean, James, Lily, Mr and Mrs Potter, Grandad Harry, and all the others he'd loved and lost were together… sharing a Christmas feast again.

And he waited at the edge of the frigid, darkened forest… for the cat to take his Christmas present to his godson… and, perhaps, to bring him his own.

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 30:**

 **Guest** (Chapter 29 Review): First off, I apologise… I did not see your review until after finishing Chapter 30, so this response comes one chapter later than usual… but I thank you for your review all the same! Glad you enjoyed chapter 29 so much. The confrontation was a pleasure to write… although I am itching for some happier scenes and may try to work in that direction for at least a bit now. We saw Albus's portion of things in Chapter 30, of course, but in this _next_ chapter we'll get the Minerva inclusion. I'm not going to play out that scene in quite the same way… as I don't want to repeat too much similar material, but I hope you find it satisfying nonetheless. After all, _she_ was the one in the pub, wasn't she? She's got to feel a tad guilty… in any case, I hope you enjoyed Chapter 30 and will enjoy Chapter 31, and I hope you had a lovely holiday as well!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for reviewing! Yes, when Harry shouts 'Tell the Truth!' Albus is certainly reminded strongly of Tom Riddle. Its Snape's POV at that moment, so of course Severus doesn't realise… but Albus will be haunted by it. Poor Albus… he had some difficulties all around in Chapter 30. As to the horcrux in Harry piece, however, I can't answer at this time. We haven't actually seen him speculate on the possibility yet… but it is certainly coming. As is Minerva – finally. She's back this chapter! Sirius has a POV as well, and a _major_ one coming in the not-so-distant future. Hope you enjoy!

 **BlueWater5** : Thanks for your review! Glad you liked the _Fantastic Beasts_ shout out. I have a theory about that particular line… Enjoy chapter 31!

 **Psitomer** : Thanks for reviewing! I love Bill as well – so excited to get to play with him a little… he's got a _lot_ of potential. As does Charlie, so perhaps we'll see him from time to time as well. The idea of string theory or other maths and sciences playing into magic is fascinating, and entirely plausible. We'll definitely be getting a lot more of magical theory over the course of this series, so I hope you like where it heads. Arithmancy, I think, is really an integration of maths and science with magic in many ways… and of course the philosophy aspect is heavily introduced by Albus/Merlin and will be explored further. Religion and spirituality have a part to play as well, I think. We've had a bit about religion in the Wizarding World… and that may come up again. It's fascinating to consider the many intrinsic overlaps, though it does make my head spin at times!

Harry… yes, he's a bit quicker on the uptake, sometimes. Side effect of private tutorials with Albus, Minerva and Snape. Though I do think he still struggles with exactly that which Grindelwald accuses Bill in Chapter 30 – Harry, too, tends to see in black and white where really there is mostly grey. He's improving, but it's a learning process. As for Albus, 'manipulative' might be a strong descriptor… it's not inaccurate, necessarily, but I don't think he ever comes at it from a malicious place. He's forced to manage nearly everything, and he wants to protect Harry… but like many parents/mentors/teachers/protective figures, he is imperfect at times. To me, he is still the embodiment of goodness, no matter his faults. As to whether he had doubts… oh, I think Albus had _many_ important fleeting thoughts this last chapter. The question is – what will he follow up on? The Willow… I promise we _will_ get that story before the end of this book.

Ah, Grindelwald. He _is_ creepy. You never quite know where you stand with him, do you? As to the question on the original involvement of Gellert with Albus on the horcrux issue… I cannot speak for JKR's brilliant mind, of course, but that _is_ rather where I drew the idea from. Make of that what you will. :)

Enjoy Chapter 31!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for your review! Don't worry – Albus is a _bit_ overworked at the moment, but his little spell at the end of Chapter 30 was directly related to his inability to sleep: his preoccupation with the Hallows v. Horcrux dilemma (that Harry later experiences in canon). I'm not tearing him away from you lot… At least, not yet.

 **StormOwlRage** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm very glad you're liking Grindelwald… he's such an interesting character to develop. Almost like a dark version of Albus. I appreciate your confidence! I'm sure _Fantastic Beasts_ will be wonderful… it is JKR, after all. I just hope when she reveals her thoughts on the character, my own won't be too far gone. Hope you like Chapter 31!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thank you for your review! Happy to hear you liked the chapter! Harry… haha, yes, he is definitely having a bit of a wobbly… not dissimilar to how a lot of children/pre-teens tend to get when they feel they've been wronged (I _definitely_ pulled the 'stop treating me like a toddler!' rant a time or two… while stamping up and down and chucking my things around my room). My parents definitely did _not_ have the type of reactions these wizards do… except perhaps to point out that my actions and my complaints were rather inapposite. Remus… yes, very sad and rather broken. Snape… emotions are not his thing; and Sirius Black is _really_ not his thing. And Albus… I was a bit confused on the magical affliction assumption, but then I re-read the chapter and I think I worked out where you thought that. But Severus assuming Albus' condition is Harry's fault isn't really in the magical sense. Rather in the emotional one. Albus just has had a very difficult few weeks and hasn't been able to sleep (not unlike Harry's own issues at times), and this last emotional blow is just one too many. He's overwhelmed.

I apologise for the timing confusion… I had initially not planned to go so back and forth with the timeline, but I wanted to watch Albus' deterioration come together in one chapter rather than drag out over three, and I wanted the readers to have that immediate background as he comes in to handle Harry. Hopefully it worked! I'm glad you liked the Gellert/Albus/Bill scene… that will be (hopefully) a fun arc to watch unfold over the next few books.

Haha I love the 'Word' comments… for me, there is a section entitled 'Review' and when you select it the comment options pop up… but I am not positive that the non-UK version works similarly, so that might be different on your computer. Being blonde myself, however, I also am fond of hand-editing, and I tend to do this with a lot of my own work.

Hope you enjoy the next chapter!

 **Guest** Reviewer: Thank you for reviewing! I really appreciate the compliment, and am very glad you are enjoying the story so much! Hope you like the continuation.

 **WizardingWorld97** : Thank you for your review! I hope you are enjoying the story. I've already given you this answer, but thought I would post it in case other readers were confused by the conversation in the previous chapter. In HBP, when Dumbledore shares Ogden's memory with Harry, the scene that he shares is Bob Ogden calling on the Gaunts after Tom Riddle Sr is cursed by Morfin Gaunt, a response to Morfin seeing his sister had taken a fancy to a Muggle. He visits the family and gets in somewhat of an altercation with Marvolo, durin which Marvolo shouts at Merope for her poor magic skills and then nearly strangles her with Slytherin's locket. Eventually, Ogden flees the home and returns with Ministry reinforcements, according to Albus' account. The sixteen-year later scene in which Morfin is arrested by the Ministry is mentioned by Albus, but not recounted in a memory that Harry sees. I assumed Ogden would have been part of that team as well. Merope, of course, has been dead for 16+ years at that point. So I actually invented the events of the second visit (assuming he was with MLE when they arrested Morfin for the murder of the Riddles), but did not invent the first visit or his recollections of Merope. I hope this helps, and enjoy the next chapter!

 **Lordban** : Thank you for your review! I'm very glad you have enjoyed the stories so much thus far and really appreciate your compliments. I hope I can continue to meet expectations as the story progresses. I know it is always unfortunate to have to read a story piecemeal as it is posted in instalments… but I will do my best to keep the new chapters as swift as I can! I hope you enjoy this next chapter, and all my best as well.


	32. We Twa Hae Run About the Braes

**A/N:** Not much to say, except that it is quite late and I anticipate a possible need to edit this tomorrow… however, I am anxious to post as often as possible in the next few weeks, as once our daughters arrive I imagine things will be difficult for a bit. We are moving into the back-half of this book now… which is perhaps a good thing, as I believe Part II will max out at between 45 and 50 chapters.

Enjoy 'We Twa Hae Run About the Braes,' and **please read and review**!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **Chapter 32: We Twa Hae Run About the Braes**

By the time Harry awoke the sun was already high in the sky, the grounds brilliant with the sparkling of light off the snow. Once his eyes were open, Harry wondered how he'd ever kept them closed against the brightness.

A musical trill sounded as he reached for his glasses.

''Lo Fawkes,' he greeted the phoenix, as Fawkes' gold and scarlet plumage came into focus. He was perched on top of Harry's immense wardrobe, watching him closely. 'You been here all night?' Harry asked in surprise, climbing out of the bed.

In answer, the phoenix trilled again: a high, beautiful note that filled Harry like a balm for the soul. Then he took to the air and vanished in a flash of flame.

Harry stepped back in surprise, then relaxed as a single golden tail feather and a scroll of parchment fluttered to the floor. He bent to retrieve it.

 _Harry,_

 _Minerva and I have gone down to see to the departure of most of the students for the Christmas holiday, but we thought you could do with a lie in this morning. Fawkes will alert Mina when you've awakened, and she will bring breakfast to the sitting room._

 _I shall see you later._

 _Albus_

Harry read the note through with half a smile before setting it on the little desk. He dressed quickly, scarfed down a bit of toast and some porridge, and hurried back to the Tower to find Ron and Hermione.

They were seated in the best chairs by the fire, the sole occupants of the usually bustling common room. Harry looked around in surprise.

'Has everyone else gone, then?' he asked.

Ron gave a sort of half-grunt of agreement, half-moan, massaging his stomach. Hermione rolled her eyes at him before addressing Harry.

'Yes,' she confirmed. 'It's just us from Gryffindor this Christmas.'

'What's up with you?' Harry asked, watching Ron continue to squirm uncomfortably in the chair.

'Ate half his Honeydukes sweets before breakfast,' Hermione scoffed impatiently. 'Overindulged. Mint toads, chocolate frogs, fizzing Whizbees, sugar –'

'Alright, you've had your laugh,' Ron interrupted weakly, while Harry tried to stifle his snort. 'Let's not go through the litany again…'

Hermione smirked, but she dropped the subject. She considered Harry instead. 'You look a bit better today,' she noted. 'Like you've had some sleep.'

'Where'd you go last night?' Ron asked, his eyes narrowing as he finally dropped his hand from his stomach.

'Er – McGonagall came and got me,' Harry hedged. 'Wanted me to talk with Dumbledore. I spent the rest of the night up there.'

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.

'What?' Harry asked, slightly defensive.

Hermione smiled. 'Nothing,' she assured him. 'We just thought it'd be something like that.'

Not sure how to reply to this, Harry flopped down into one of the armchairs instead. Crookshanks wound himself once between Harry's legs, then spread over the carpet to bask in the warmth from the fire. Ron scowled at him distrustfully. The cat caught the gaze, and gave an almost teasing flick of his tail in Ron's direction.

'So… do you want to talk about it now?' Ron asked, looking half apprehensive, half intrigued.

' _Ron!_ ' Hermione hissed. 'We said we wouldn't –'

'It's alright,' Harry said with a sigh. 'There isn't much to say, anyway. They all basically confirmed what we'd already heard. I told them you lot had repeated it to me, because of course I couldn't say about the map. Remus called Dumbledore. Nobody could say _why_ they hadn't figured out earlier that Black was the traitor… and that was it, really.'

'You – you haven't still got a mind you ought to go after him yourself?' Ron asked tentatively.

Harry didn't say anything. He wasn't sure _what_ he wanted anymore.

'Harry, the Dementors will catch him,' Hermione promised, looking scared again. 'He'll go back to Azkaban, and –'

'And what?' Harry challenged. 'It doesn't matter, Hermione. Azkaban isn't a punishment for Black like it is for normal people. The Dementors don't affect him like they do everyone else… like they do _me_ ,' he emphasised. 'You heard what Fudge said.'

'So what… you're going to _kill_ him instead?' Ron said through gritted teeth. 'Come off it. Even if you _did_ somehow catch him, you'd never manage it, Harry. You'll be giving Black exactly what he wants. You know what Pettigrew's mum got after Black had blasted him to smithereens? His bloody finger, in a matchbox. That's what she buried, after that madman had his say. I'm not going to be at _your_ funeral, crying over some fragment he leaves behind.'

Harry looked at the two of them, recognising that they'd rehearsed some portion of this conversation while he'd been asleep. Ron's face was beetroot red, his breathing heavy. Hermione looked tearful again. And Harry knew it was pointless to prolong the argument.

He sighed. He didn't want to wallow in this anymore, right now. He wanted distraction.

'What should we do today?' he asked instead, looking expectantly from one to the other.

They exchanged slightly startled glances. 'Er – we could work on the Arithmancy assignment?' Hermione suggested half-heartedly.

Ron made a noise like Crookshanks spotting Scabbers. 'It's the first day of Christmas hols, Hermione,' he moaned. 'I want to do something _fun_.'

Harry stared out the window as they bickered back and forth, the familiar sound almost comforting. He could see two figures in the distance – Albus and Minerva, he suspected, by the gleaming silver beard he could just discern. He supposed they were walking back from the village after the departure of the Express. An owl fluttered past the window, winging its way over the frozen grounds. Harry watched it until the furl of smoke from Hagrid's chimney obscured his view.

'Let's go down and see Hagrid,' he suggested suddenly.

Ron and Hermione broke off their quarrel, turning to him in surprise.

'Great idea,' Ron said at once. He hopped to his feet.

'Harry,' Hermione started tentatively. 'You're not supposed to be out of the castle on your own. Remember what a fuss he made the last time? Do you really think it's a good –'

'Albus is down there already,' Harry countered, climbing out of the chair to go fetch his cloak. 'I've just seen him and Minerva walking back through the gates. If we hurry, we might catch him up in the entrance hall. I don't think he'll mind, long as Hagrid walks us back up.'

So the three of them hurried to grab their cloaks, pushed out the portrait hole (ignoring the calls to return by Sir Cadogan as they passed), and had just managed to make it down the marble staircase when the oak front doors opened.

'Goodness!' Minerva exclaimed, as Ron nearly bowled her over slipping on the wet flagstones. She steadied him with a well-timed arm. 'And what are you three rushing about for?'

She caught Harry's eye with something more than curiosity in her expression. Dumbledore's blue ones were twinkling beside her.

'Er – we wanted to go and see Hagrid,' he said, looking between the two. 'We can, can't we? If you watch us down the hill, and Hagrid walks us back?'

Minerva looked to Albus, who inclined his head.

'I think that would be suitable,' he agreed. 'You have eaten, I take it?'

'Yes,' Harry said quickly. 'Thanks for that, sir.'

'And we'll be back for lunch, professor,' Ron assured him. Hermione scoffed under her breath.

'You had better run along then,' Minerva put in with half a smile. 'You've only an hour to go.'

The trio nodded in unison, already making for the doors. It was chilly and bright outside, the snow from the high banks blowing about their faces in the light wind. They raced each other down the hillside toward the warmth, pink-faced and breathless as at last they hauled themselves up the huge steps of the cabin.

Harry pounded on the door.

'Has he gone out?' Hermione asked, shivering as she darted a worried glance back at the castle.

'I can hear something…' Ron began, pressing his ear to the wood.

'Hagrid?' Harry called, banging louder. 'Go on – it's us!'

'It's a sort of keening,' Ron opined, listening again when Harry's summons received no answer. He exchanged a wary look with the others. 'You don't reckon he's got some new – argh!'

Ron pitched forward as the door was thrown open quite suddenly. Harry managed to grab the back of his cloak at the last moment, and pulled him straight again before he could re-break his nose on Hagrid's shin.

'Hagrid!' Hermione said, looking shocked at the sight of him. 'What's happened to you?'

Harry, reassured Ron was steady on his feet, looked up too. Hagrid's massive face was swollen, his eyes bloodshot. Tear tracks were evident on his ruddy cheeks, and the faint odour of spirit hung around him despite the early hour.

He gave a great sniff, mumbled 'Yeh've heard!' and threw himself forward onto Harry and Ron's necks.

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'Harry!' Albus greeted with a smile, as the boy's shock of untidy black hair appeared around the edge of the office door a mere half-hour or so after he'd seen the trio off to Hagrid's. He set aside the letter from Cornelius he'd been perusing and stood out from behind his desk. 'I did not think to see you back here quite so soon. Is everything alright?'

'Er – yes,' Harry said, slightly awkwardly.

Albus wondered if Harry was looking to reopen the discussion from the previous day, but apparently the boy had pushed the thought from his mind for now. Instead, he continued:

'Have you, er, spoken to Hagrid, lately?'

Albus raised an eyebrow. 'I saw him at supper last night,' he recounted. 'But I do not believe he made it to breakfast. Was something the matter when you dropped by today?'

'Yes,' Harry said, twisting a corner of his robes.

Albus smiled indulgently. 'Just ask, Harry,' he encouraged. This awkwardness was quite unlike him, of late.

'He doesn't want me to,' Harry admitted. 'He thinks it'll put you out.'

Albus waited. After a moment, Harry let out a breath.

'Alright, so, you know about Buckbeak?' he asked in a rush. The headmaster nodded, and he hurried on. 'Right, so he knows you spoke for him with the Ministry… kept him out of trouble. But they are still bringing charges against the hippogriff, apparently.'

Albus sighed. 'Yes,' he said sadly. 'With Lucius Malfoy involved, it is hardly unexpected.'

'Yeah, well… Hagrid needs help,' Harry said pleadingly. 'He can't put up a defence on his own – he's no idea what he's doing. We told him we'd look into it for him, try to find some research or something that will help… but you know that will end up being Hermione for the most part, and she really hasn't time… and he doesn't think he can ask it of you, and without _someone_ doing something he's definitely going to… and Buckbeak will…'

Albus held up a hand, interrupting the barely-sensible rant. 'Harry, of course I will stand for Hagrid and the hippogriff, if he needs assistance,' he said gently. 'You hardly need ask.'

Harry's shoulders relaxed slightly. 'Thanks,' he said in relief. 'Er – you probably… probably shouldn't tell him I've asked you,' he admitted. When Albus cocked his head, Harry went on. 'He told me not to. He thought you had helped enough, keeping him out of trouble. And that you have enough going on with Sirius Black and me and everything… I suppose he's not wrong, really,' Harry finished, looking a bit uncertain.

Albus smiled. 'My dear boy,' he said through twinkling eyes. ' _You_ are never too much for me to carry on with, I assure you. And even before you entered this castle, before Sirius Black broke out of Azkaban… do you think I was just idling away the time watching the seven forms progress through the year? Hogwarts – and the wizarding world more generally – have always presented a unique and varied set of challenges. These last few years have been, perhaps, more trying than usual… but they are nothing on what life was like during Voldemort's reign of terror, nor what I expect will come to pass should he ever return. And I am not yet so old as to limit my ability to help where I can, I assure you.'

'Right,' said Harry, though his expression was troubled. 'Except… yesterday…'

'Yesterday _was_ an anomaly,' Albus emphasised firmly. 'I appreciate your concern, my dear child, but I do think I can safely promise that such indisposition does not often strike me. And I am feeling much recovered for a night of decent rest – as you, yourself, also seem to be.'

Harry smiled just a fraction. But he looked reassured all the same.

'Was there something else?' Albus asked politely. 'Or would you like to have tea?'

'Er – actually…' Harry hesitated. 'I did say I'd meet Ron and Hermione up in the Common Room for a bit,' he admitted guiltily. 'But I can put them off, sir, if you want to –'

Albus was already shaking his head. 'Go,' he insisted. 'It is the holidays, and you should be enjoying yourselves. We will have time enough to take tea together before your lessons resume.'

'Thanks,' said Harry with another smile. He hurried for the door.

Albus shook his head with his own small smile as the boy disappeared beyond, giving a cheery wave in farewell before the door to the office shut again. He was glad that – for the moment – Harry appeared to have been distracted from his anger and betrayal, and that he was spending time with his friends instead of wallowing in bitterness. But it was also odd to let him go, when he knew the Harry of a year ago, perhaps even the Harry of this past summer, would have clung to the office and the headmaster like a sanctuary.

He headed over to the opposite corner, where Fawkes was watching him dolefully from his perch. With one long finger, he stroked the phoenix's head. The bird closed his eyes at the headmaster's touch.

'He is growing up,' he told Fawkes, quietly.

He was not quite sure how he felt about this. There were things that Harry must learn when he grew… things Albus was not ready to tell him.

And he wondered, with a sense of deep foreboding, if he ever really would be.

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'Did you ask him?' Ron demanded, before Harry even had his feet through the portrait hole.

'Yeah,' Harry said. He walked over to join them, shucking the travelling cloak he still wore and dropping it over the back of a chair. Crookshanks hissed as the black folds smacked him in the face. 'Oh, sorry,' he said to the cat, as it rearranged itself disgruntledly. 'Didn't know it was occupied.'

He flopped into a seat at the table where Ron and Hermione were working, a mixture of Magical Law books and their holiday assignments spread over its surface. Ron stuck a scrap of parchment in the corner of the large tome he'd been leafing through, and shoved it away with a satisfied smirk. Hermione sniffled slightly as she looked up from her own work: Arithmancy, it looked like. She still looked chilled from the snowy weather outdoors.

'What did he say?' she asked, rubbing at the end of her nose.

Harry smiled. 'He said he'd help, of course,' he assured them. 'Hagrid will be miffed that I asked, but honestly – Albus will be loads better than whatever we can scrounge together.'

'Cheers,' said Ron happily, taking the massive volume of law he'd just bookmarked and pushing it entirely out of reach with a relieved sigh.

Hermione gave a light sneeze.

'Bless you,' Harry said automatically, frowning as he looked at her. She waved him off impatiently.

'That's one down, then,' she said in satisfaction. 'We ought to get through some of this before luncheon, and we can hopefully put a few subjects behind us by supper.'

Ron stared at her, open-mouthed. 'Hermione, it's the first day of hols!' he complained. 'Can't we have a rest for once?'

She gave him her signature glare – the one that reminded Harry strongly of Minerva.

'If we do it now, we won't have to between Christmas and New Year,' she pointed out. 'And _you_ are free to do whatever you want, Ronald. Harry and I have more subjects than you.'

' _You_ have more subjects than anyone in the school,' Harry opined, growing a bit concerned as she bent over her books again.

He hadn't really noticed it much before – what with all his own work, Sirius Black, the Dementors and Quidditch to occupy his mind and anxiety… but now that he really looked at her, he thought Hermione was definitely showing the strain of her overloaded timetable. He felt guilty for not picking up on it sooner. She had circles under her eyes that were darker than Remus', and her bushy hair looked almost electrified. Of course, she was always up earlier than any of the others, working away in the common room on some subject or another. And she was usually the last to bed. She never complained, Hermione. Always found time to help him and Ron with their own work, or worry over him and Sirius Black; be his confidant about Remus… but, suddenly, Harry felt like he'd fallen down on his own duties by letting her run herself into the ground like this.

He passed over a handkerchief as Hermione sneezed again.

'Maybe we ought to pack it in for today,' he suggested, eying her warily. 'You look peaky.'

She blew her nose irritably, but bent over the textbook again. 'Nonsense, I'm fine – just a tickle. I'll go for a Pepper-Up tomorrow if it's not gone.'

'You sound like Harry,' Ron opined as he scrutinised her too. Harry shot him an annoyed glare, but Ron was unrepentant. '"I'm fine,"' he quipped back at his best friend. 'You know, whenever you say that, it's usually our confirmation that you _really_ aren't. I don't get it – do you two just _like_ to suffer longer?'

'It's a chill, Ron, not an amputated limb,' Hermione said in exasperation. 'And if it's still there tomorrow, I'll get a potion from Madam Pomfrey.'

'Better get it now, before we go down to the Great Hall,' Harry recommended, frowning at her. 'Because even if _you_ don't think you need it, Minerva will take one look at you and I promise she'll drag all three of us up to see Pomfrey before they serve pudding.'

'Oh, so my cold is about you, then?' Hermione challenged, looked caught between annoyance and amusement.

'Yes,' Harry said seriously. 'Or it will be, if McGonagall sniffs you out. You don't know what she's like. I've had more potions in the last two years than I've had colds in my whole life. She's dead sneaky about it to – sometimes she slips them in when you're least expecting it.'

'You lot and your sniffles,' Ron put in, shaking his head with a laugh. 'Must be rough, being so delicate.'

Harry, reminded strongly of Madam Pomfrey fussing about at the start of term, felt mildly offended. 'I'm hardly ever ill!' he pointed out. 'No more than you.'

'Nah, mate,' Ron said confidently. 'Never catch anything. Weasley immunity.'

Hermione looked up from the handkerchief to snort derisively. ' _Weasley_ immunity?' she repeated sardonically. 'What utter rubbish.'

Harry sniggered, but Ron protested at once. 'It's not!' he insisted. 'Look, I grew up with _six_ other kids, remember? We passed all sorts back and forth when we were small – you name it.' He started counting off on his fingers – 'Colds, flus, mad Muggle nonsense, Mumblemumps, Fairy Fainting… Fred, George and Percy even had Dragon Pox once just after Charlie went off to school. Ginny and I missed that one, thank Merlin.'

Hermione cocked her head, looking curious. Ron shrugged.

'It was a nightmare,' he recounted. 'Poor Mum was driven mad trying to throw up all those quarantine charms all the time, but it was usually too late. Upside is, none of us ever gets ill now – too many immunities built up.'

'I grew up with Dudley,' Harry pointed out. 'And Hermione and I both went to primary school.'

'Not the same,' Ron said confidently. 'Hermione's an only child. And _you_ grew up in a cupboard, mate. Just face it: my constitution's a bit stronger than yours.'

Harry punched him in the side, and Ron doubled over with a muffled 'oof!'

'Hmm… yeah, I can see it now,' Harry mocked.

'Tosser,' Ron mumbled, rubbing at his ribs.

'You know, that actually makes a fair bit of sense,' Hermione opined, looking slightly shocked as she pondered Ron's theory.

Ron rolled his eyes. 'Always the tone of surprise,' he muttered.

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They did manage to convince Hermione to stop off at the hospital wing for some Pepper-Up before luncheon. Madam Pomfrey kept her through the afternoon for 'rest and observation,' and Harry and Ron turned up alone to the Great Hall for the meal. Harry was, therefore, completely unsurprised when Minerva insisted on forcing the other two to down a measure of preventative potion as well. He sent Ron an 'I told you so' grimace as she pressed matching phials into their hands, and stifled his own laughter as Ron tried to convince McGonagall that his 'Weasley immunity' would protect him.

He looked like a boiling carrot with the steam rolling out from his ears.

The rest of the week before Christmas Day passed in a happier haze then the end of term. Harry had not forgotten Sirius Black or his anger at the adults for concealing the truth for so long… but it was difficult to stay wallowing in perpetual misery when the castle was festooned in holly and fairy lights, the suits of armour could be heard belting out carols in every corner of the school, and the delicious aroma of Christmas cooking pervaded the corridors.

He and Ron indulged the recovered Hermione by diligently working on their winter assignments for a day or so, and both had to admit they were happier having put the bulk of their school work behind them. Albus agreed to watch them outside the following afternoon, so they could roughhouse in the snow for a time with the three other students who remained behind for the holiday. It was odd, not having the rest of the Weasley clan to choose teams for a snow fight. Harry remembered with a grin the winter of his first year at Hogwarts, when Fred and George had bewitched a number of snowballs to follow Professor Quirrell, bouncing cheerily off the back of his turban as he walked across the grounds…

He wondered if the twins knew they had been pummelling Lord Voldemort in the face? He'd have to remember to enlighten them.

This year, with Molly and Arthur Weasley remaining at home in lieu of visiting one of their boys abroad, the rest of Ron's family had gone home for the holiday. Ron had told Harry, when he'd asked, that he'd begged off the visit because he couldn't stand a fortnight with Percy. Hermione had said she couldn't afford to be parted from the library for so long, with all the work she had to get through. But Harry knew they both had decided to remain because they didn't want to leave him on his own… and he was grateful for it.

The only other students boarding over the holiday were two tiny first years from Ravenclaw that Harry barely knew even from sight and a sullen-faced fifth form boy from Slytherin. Watching the three standing behind the headmaster (the first years looking highly nervous and the Slytherin boy extremely put out), Harry wondered whether Dumbledore had forced the others outdoors to mingle. The headmaster would not allow them split into uneven teams, so Harry let Ron and Hermione take the little Ravenclaw boy called Derek, while he partnered with the Slytherin – Stefan Cattermole – and a titchy little girl called Honora Selwyn.

The match was not as horrible as he'd anticipated it might be. They were just about quits, which made for a fierce competition… though Harry had the impression the headmaster might be bewitching the occasional shot to keep the action going. Honora Selwyn, who it turned out had parents stationed abroad in South Africa on some assignment from the Ministry, had an arm on her that was almost shocking in its accuracy. Harry suggested, hoping he would not regret it, that she ought to see about a place on her house Quidditch team next year. Derek had stayed behind to keep her company for the holiday, just had Ron and Hermione had for Harry. The sullen-faced Slytherin boy, Stefan, turned out not to be as much snobbish as merely shy and a bit depressed. He, it transpired, hadn't intended to stay at Hogwarts at all… but his mother was at the end of a high-risk pregnancy, and Stefan had had some sort of virus in the last week of term. His stepfather didn't think it a good idea to risk exposing his mother and unborn sibling, even though Stefan wasn't ill anymore… so he'd asked the boy to remain at school. Stefan agreed, but Harry could tell the decision stung.

Harry found, to his surprise, that he actually enjoyed having Stefan as a partner. He was as good at strategy as Ron was, which improved their odds in the match. And he really wasn't half-bad company… for a Slytherin.

They visited Hagrid a couple of times later in the week as well. He was in much better spirits after Albus' promise of assistance, though Harry was grateful the headmaster seemed to have left him out of whatever explanation he'd given the gamekeeper. And on Thursday before Christmas week-end, Harry paid a call to Remus in his chambers.

The professor was looking drawn when he answered the knock, still wrapped in his dressing gown though it was nearly teatime.

'Harry,' Remus said in some surprise and – Harry thought, with the smallest stab of chagrin – with a hint of trepidation. 'Do come in.'

He stepped out of the doorway and Harry entered the familiar sitting room. He forced himself to tamp down on the emotions the space reignited.

'Are you alright?' he asked, considering the pale man before him.

Remus gave a small smile. 'The moon will be full in two days' time,' he explained, tightening the sash of his dressing gown. 'Unfortunately, it is a feeling I am used to.'

Harry's mouth fell open. 'On Christmas!' he exclaimed, aghast. 'You'll miss the feast.'

Remus laughed quietly. 'It will not be the first holiday I must claim illness,' he assured Harry with a sad smile. 'But Albus and Minerva have kindly invited me along for luncheon with Aberforth on Boxing Day. Should I be recovered enough, and you agreeable, I will be glad to have a delayed celebration.'

'Yeah – I mean, of course you should join,' Harry said hurriedly. 'I'm just sorry you'll miss Christmas Day.'

Remus gave a wave of his hand, and gestured toward the sofa. 'Would you like to stay for tea?' he invited, levering himself down into an armchair as Harry took the proffered cushion.

Harry considered the request… but Remus looked so exhausted. 'That's alright,' he said. 'I don't want to wear you out. But I had a question to ask.'

The set of Remus' shoulders tensed just a fraction. 'Oh?'

'Not about… not about Black,' Harry clarified. 'At least, not really. I was wondering if we could start up again with the Patronus lessons… after the moon, of course. I still can't manage one on my own, and if the Dementors turn up at our next Quidditch match…'

He trailed off, but Remus understood. His tired face broke into a true smile.

'Of course, Harry,' he said. 'I would be happy to. Shall we say… next Thursday evening?'

'Ye –' Harry began, but he thought about the date and his agreement faltered in his throat. 'Er – not Thursday,' he said mulishly. 'I've lessons with Snape on Thursdays, except tonight. Albus made us have a break this week… but he's sure to start them up again Thursday next.'

'We'll say Wednesday, then,' Remus adjusted easily. 'How is the wandless magic coming on, by the way?'

Despite Harry's attempt to relieve him of the need to entertain, he conjured a tea set as he spoke. Harry took the offered cup with a word of thanks and settled more comfortably into the sofa.

'It's… okay,' he hedged. 'I'm still having trouble with some of it.'

'You are only thirteen,' Remus reminded him gently. 'That you can practise in wandless magic at all is highly impressive… that you are capable so early even more so. But your magical core is still far from mature, Harry. You can't expect yourself to learn such a difficult field at the pace you will learn your usual subjects. Severus knows that.'

Harry grimaced. 'It's the more focused magic that I can't do right, according to Snape. He says it's because it's based in precision rather than brute force.'

Remus smiled. 'Well, you do have a tendency toward the more obvious,' he teased. But at Harry's frown, he sobered.

'Harry, you have more difficulty with precise, subtle magic because of your age, the relative newness of tuning to your magical core, and your very nature. You are disposed to throw everything you have at something – and that is not a criticism,' he added hastily, as Harry opened his mouth to protest. 'More refined magic will come as you mature. These lessons might be frustrating for a time… but you'll get there, I promise you.'

'Maybe,' Harry said, suddenly a bit despondent. 'I have to look up some new unlocking charms though… and locking ones. Snape's not very impressed with my current repertoire, and I haven't finished this stupid task with the chests…'

Remus looked puzzled, and Harry explained about the exercise Snape had had him working on for the past few weeks. To his surprise, Remus set his own tea on the table and went to peruse a shelf of battered books in the corner of the room. He returned a few moments later with a particularly tattered copy of a volume called _The Mischief-Maker's Guide_.

'Have a look through that,' Remus suggested. 'Mind you, you'd better not tell Minerva I gave it to you, or she'll have my hide for her mantle. And don't go round trying anything _else_ you might read in there –' he warned with an admonitory look – 'But you'll find a useful chapter on getting through magically sealed doors.'

'Brilliant – thanks!' Harry said with a grin, taking the tome from Remus' hand. 'Mischief-makers,' he read out, struck by the sudden similarity.

'Yes, as I say, don't let on to Minerva,' Remus warned again. He freshened their tea cups.

Harry almost voiced his musings aloud, but he clammed up just in time. Remus might be rather like an indulgent uncle at times like these… but he doubted very much that the professor would be pleased to learn that Harry had an object like the Marauder's Map. And he would probably guess very quickly what Harry had been doing with it, if Harry revealed too much.

Remus was looking at him oddly, and Harry realised that his pending question must have shown somewhat on his face. He hurried to ask a different one.

'Could my dad do wandless magic?'

'Hmm,' Remus considered, choosing a crumpet from a plate he'd just conjured. He offered the plate out to Harry. 'He could, yes,' he decided. 'Though he didn't often use it. He wasn't as well versed in wandless casting as Albus is, or even Professor Snape… but of course, he died very young. He might have been just as proficient had he lived. James was quite gifted in Transfiguration – most of the times I saw him use wandless spellwork, it was in that area. Your mother, on the other hand, was very fond of wandless magic. Perhaps it came from her Muggle upbringing… perhaps it was just who Lily was. But she wasn't as married to her wand as James seemed to be.'

Harry smiled. 'That seems like her,' he said, thinking back to the memories of his mother.

'Yes, well, you have a bit of both of them, in your own magic,' Remus said fondly. 'This "brute force" as you've described it… that is James – carbon copy. But I suspect that your talent in wandless casting comes from Lily, Harry. And if you can learn to channel her, you will find the finesse you are looking for is easier to reach.'

Harry awoke on Christmas morning with a muttered oath, flinging back the pillow that Ron had tossed at his head. Judging by the chilly light creeping through their window, the sun hadn't even risen yet.

'Wanker,' Harry spat in annoyance, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and reaching for his glasses.

'And a very happy Christmas to you too,' Ron greeted him with a wicked grin. He was already seated on the edge of his bed, happily ripping the wrappings off a new model sphinx that Harry supposed was probably a gift from Bill. 'You've presents, you know,' he pointed out, nodding to the small pile on the end of Harry's bed.

Harry yawned and stretched a bit, then pulled the first parcel toward himself. He woke up somewhat as he unwrapped the usual Weasley gift – which this year included a scarlet jumper with the Gryffindor lion emblazoned across the front, assorted mince pies, Christmas cake and brittle. He'd just moved the sweets aside when he caught sight of a long, thin parcel beneath, wrapped simply in brown paper.

'What's that?' asked Ron suspiciously, spotting the parcel at the same time. 'It looks like…'

Harry's heart leapt. Exchanging a gleeful look with Ron, he hurriedly undid the twine knots and unwound the wrappings. Sure enough, a gleaming mahogany broomstick rolled out onto the bedclothes.

But this wasn't just any broomstick.

'WOW!' Ron exclaimed, his mouth falling comically open as Harry turned the handle so that the name faced up. 'A _Firebolt_!'

Harry was stunned. The Firebolt was perfect – sleek and shiny, with gold lettering and a serial number stamped at the top of the handle. The broom's magic seemed to thrum as Harry held it, comforting and powerful all at once.

'Can I have a go?' Ron asked eagerly, chucking aside the pair of maroon socks he'd just unwrapped and hurrying over to Harry's bed to ogle the Firebolt more closely.

'Yeah,' Harry said distractedly. 'Yeah… anything. Blimey, who would send me something worth this many galleons?'

Ron rolled his eyes. 'Come off it,' he said, shaking his head. 'Had to be Dumbledore, didn't it? Or McGonagall. She's mad about Quidditch, and she's the one who worked it out so you'd have the Nimbus in first form.'

Harry frowned, thinking on it. It _was_ true that McGonagall had been the one to ensure he was allowed to play, back in first year. More than that, she had recruited him. As rigid a rule-enforcer as she usually was, Minerva had always been lenient where Quidditch came in. He wasn't at all sure, however, that it had been she who had got him the Nimbus. For all he knew, it might have been Dumbledore. Or perhaps they had just ensured that the money was taken from his vault, since he was so young and unused to the Wizarding World. That was something he probably should have asked… but it had never occurred to him to question it before.

Either way though, the Nimbus had been one thing. Top of the line, yes, but it wasn't worth one twelfth of what this broom must have cost. The Firebolt was the international standard – and the most advanced broomstick ever produced. After Ron had pointed it out at the match in Edinburgh over the summer, Harry had read about it obsessively. Even more so since his beloved Nimbus had been smashed. Sometimes, in the dead of night, he'd almost convinced himself it would be an alright use of his parents' fortune to invest in one of these… but the morning light and sanity always negated the impulse.

Somehow, he couldn't imagine Minerva doing something quite so extravagant… nor Dumbledore, who was already usually more anxious about Harry in the air than keen for him to play. And even if it had been one of them –

'There's no note,' he pointed out to Ron. 'Why would they have given me something like this and not even left a note? And look,' he rummaged through the few wrapped parcels still sitting on the edge of his bed. 'This one here is from Albus and Minerva.'

'Maybe it's just fallen off,' Ron suggested. 'Have a look.'

The two of them spent ten minutes digging through Harry's mussed up blankets and the remaining parcels, but if there _had_ been a note, it was long gone now. The Firebolt hovered next to the bed as they rummaged, floating at precisely the right height for Harry to mount.

'I don't see it,' Harry said, frowning again as they finally gave up the search. 'It just doesn't make sense that it'd be them.'

'Maybe it was Remus,' Ron said instead.

But Harry laughed. 'Ron, if Remus had this sort of gold, he'd buy himself a few new robes,' he opined. 'Trust me. He doesn't have this kind of money lying around.'

'Well, who cares,' Ron said, giving up the fight. 'I still think Dumbledore's the best bet. But Harry – it's a _Firebolt_. Don't sew a niffler's pouch shut, mate.'

Harry opened his mouth to ask what a niffler was, but Ron's eyes suddenly gleamed. 'Do you know what? We should try it out now!'

Harry laughed again. 'Now?' he repeated. 'It's half seven on Christmas morning, Ron. Nobody's even up yet. We'll get killed if we go into the grounds.'

'Call that elf,' Ron suggested. 'You're allowed out if she keeps a lookout, aren't you? You did it all the time this summer.'

Harry was about to counter that 'this summer' had been prior to Sirius Black's attempted break-in at the castle… but Ron's face was so excited… and Harry himself was having a hard time sitting on the bed and holding the broom, when he _really_ wanted to see how it flew.

'Alright then,' he agreed. 'Let's finish up here and we'll go.'

He and Ron finished opening the rest of their Christmas gifts. Harry received a very interesting book on advanced defensive magic from Remus, a packet of assorted Honeydukes sweets from Hermione, and several new sets of robes and a handsome pair of dragonhide boots from the headmaster and Minerva. When they'd finished the unwrapping, Harry summoned an elf. He decided on Lara instead of Mina, however… though he did not think he was _technically_ out of bounds, he was well aware that he and Ron were about to exploit a loophole in the headmaster's explicit instructions. Perhaps a bit further than that, really, as Minerva was having a professor supervise every Quidditch practice during term. Still, Ron was right. The headmaster _had_ let Harry out with a House-elf to watch him a few times over summer hols.

But he suspected Mina, as the headmaster's own elf, was a bit less likely to agree to the scheme.

Lara was a younger elf, still slightly new to Hogwarts, and she wasn't quite as familiar with Harry and the headmaster's relationship as some of the ones he knew better. She agreed to accompany them happily enough, looking pleased to have the responsibility. Harry and Ron dressed quickly in heavier clothes and cloaks. Harry grabbed his new Firebolt, and they shot out of the dormitory before the clock struck eight.

'Happy Christmas to you, too!' Hermione said a bit huffily, as they hurried through the Common Room so fast they completely missed her crossing from the girls' side.

Harry stopped short. Hermione was holding Crookshanks, still clad in her pyjamas, and clearly had been on her way up to say good morning when they'd crossed paths. She was smiling despite the snippy tone, but her expression hardened as she caught sight of the broomstick in Harry's hand.

'Er – thanks for the sweets, Hermione!' Harry said in a winning tone, giving her a grin. In truth, he had been rather hoping he and Ron would be able to get out into the grounds before Hermione awoke… he knew she would not approve of the scheme one bit.

'Where are you off to?' she enquired suspiciously, her eyes still on the new broomstick.

Ron, who clearly hadn't foreseen as much danger in this potential snag as Harry had, answered quickly for the pair of them. 'Harry's got a Firebolt for Christmas!'

'Yes, I can see that,' Hermione replied. Her eyebrows were drawn so close together that they were nearly touching.

Harry felt his unease grow.

'You're not going out to the pitch?' Hermione asked, though it sounded a lot more like a command.

Harry coloured. 'Er – we're not going alone,' he clarified. 'One of the elves is coming. She's meeting us in the entrance hall in five minutes.'

Hermione did not look pacified. 'You aren't supposed to be in the grounds,' she reminded Harry. 'And who sent you the broom? The headmaster?'

'Er – yeah, probably,' Harry answered evasively.

Hermione's look of concern doubled. 'What do you mean, "probably"?'

'There wasn't a note,' Ron clarified. 'But come on – it had to be Dumbledore, didn't it? He and McGonagall were there when Harry's Nimbus was destroyed… Harry basically lives here… and you know how McGonagall is about Quidditch.'

'I think you ought to ask them before you go out,' Hermione said firmly. 'And you ought to ask them if they _were_ the ones who sent –'

'Hermioneee,' Ron moaned. 'It's Christmas! Can't this wait? We're just going for a quick fly before breakfast.'

Harry thought it spoke volumes that Ron was actually putting something ahead of food. Hermione's look of unease, however, did not dissipate.

'I really think you should –'

But she broke off as Crookshanks, who Hermione had set to the ground, suddenly flung himself at Ron's top pocket. The pocket – which obviously held Scabbers – began to quiver and squeak, and Ron, snarling, intercepted the cat mid-leap and threw him bodily aside.

'You ruddy animal!' he screamed at him.

' _Ron_!' Hermione replied in outrage, distracted by the attack on her cat.

'He's just tried to scalp me, Hermione!' Ron shot back indignantly. 'If you can't control him, you ought to keep him locked up!'

Hermione bristled at once and opened her mouth to shout back, but Harry decided it was time to defuse the situation.

'Come on, Ron,' he muttered. He grabbed Ron's arm and dragged him forcibly from the room, before Hermione could work out what to say next. 'We'll be back within the hour!' he called over his shoulder as he frogmarched Ron to the portrait hole.

Ron had taken Scabbers from his pocket and was trying to soothe him. Harry was disconcerted to see that the rat had lost a lot of weight since the summer. His grey fur looked spotty in places, and there was a definite droop to his whiskers. He wanted to say something… but he was afraid of Ron's reaction. He knew the red-head would be miserable if Scabbers should die.

'Should have left him upstairs,' Ron muttered, shoving Scabbers back into his cloak a few moments later.

The bright sun outdoors and the prospect of flight in near future lifted both Harry and Ron's spirits as they made their way into the grounds. Harry had been a bit anxious they might run into a teacher in the corridors, but nobody seemed to be stirring this early on Christmas morning. Lara met them exactly as promised and was kind enough to melt an easier path through the ice.

The pitch was covered in a foot of undisturbed snow; the high goal posts on either end capped with turrets of white. Harry had not flown in more than three weeks now – not since Quidditch practices had stopped for the winter. But today's conditions were bright and clear, and he knew nothing would raise his lately-fallen spirits like an hour in the air.

'You go first,' Ron said as they finally made it to the edge of the pitch. 'It's yours, after all.'

Harry grinned and threw a leg over the mahogany handle. It seemed to vibrate to life beneath him, raising itself to the perfect height for kick-off.

'Cheers,' he said to Ron.

And, with a whoosh of drifting snow, he pushed high into the air.

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Severus hated Christmas morning.

It had never been fun for him as a child. No different, really, than any other day in that miserable house. He supposed his mother had done her best to make it special for him… he always had a few gifts to unwrap, at the very least. Most years, she'd save up a bit of money to prepare a roast for the three of them. But they could never afford anything elaborate. And Tobias was always there. Tobias didn't like Christmas trees. The wizarding crackers Eileen had tried to introduce when Severus was six had nearly caused him to take out her eye. And when she suggested they play Father Christmas for Severus, when he'd been only four or five, his father had sat him down and explained that he wouldn't do it, because teaching Severus that there was some benevolent fat man who was going to pop round and shower him with presents would only make it harder when he grew up and realised the world was full of nothing but takers.

Probably the only rational lesson Tobias had ever given him, really.

At Hogwarts, he'd had a few better years. When she had been there. He celebrated early with her, the first three years, before she returned to Cokeworth and he sought the protection of the castle rather than his father's uncharitable hand. They had always exchanged something small – something that might have been meaningless to any but the other. He'd given her an everblooming daisy once. She'd given him a hand-painted smock. Sometimes, they'd sneak up into old Professor Smithworthy's quarters – which he'd leave unlocked for Severus when he went to visit his grandchildren – and Severus would play at the piano. Lily would sing. She hadn't had the most melodious voice… but it was strong, and clear, and perfect to his ears. She'd liked to hear him play. He hadn't been able to bring himself to touch the keys since she'd died.

That fourth year, she'd stayed with him. He knew it was hard for her… to not go home to her family. But she'd stayed anyway. In retrospect, he thought she might have felt it by then… that he was slipping away. Perhaps she'd stayed to try and save him. Perhaps he hadn't given her a proper chance to try.

In fifth year, she'd gone. But he followed. It was his first year at home for the holiday since he'd left the house for school – and his last. He'd been lucky: Tobias spent almost the entirety of Christmas Day passed out in the sitting room chair, and he and his mother had a peaceful dinner on their own. Later, he'd gone to the Evans' to pull crackers with Lily. And it had felt, just for a fleeting moment, like everything would be alright again… whatever divide had started to solidify between them.

But of course, it was not. And by sixth year, Severus had decided that his father was right, on this one thing. Christmas was nothing but hope for the foolish. A celebration that blinded the gullible to the truth of the world… to the evil that pervaded human nature.

His opinion had not strayed since.

Like most other Christmas mornings, Severus woke unreasonably early on Saturday, haunted by restless sleep and general apathy. It annoyed him – the early hour. As it was Christmas, the elves would not be serving their usual shifts in the Great Hall. Albus encouraged a later breakfast, usually around ten, to tide them over to the Christmas feast in the mid-afternoon. Supper was light, and always quite late… though at times only half the castle's occupants made it that far. The children would be up and opening their presents early, but none of the remaining professors were likely to emerge even for a morning cup of tea for several hours.

Unable to remain in bed and unwilling to sit in the Great Hall alone, Severus decided he may as well use the time to get some work done. A late term spate of colds and flu had left Madam Pomfrey nearly cleaned out of Pepper-Up potion and decongestants and too busy to re-up her supply, so he thought he might brew a few new batches and restock her stores. Perhaps an hour or so bent over a familiar cauldron would allay some of his simmering temper.

He was heading back from the hospital wing and a highly-satisfied mediwitch when he saw her. Hermione Granger, pink-faced and breathless, was racing down the marble steps as though her passing mark depended on reaching the entrance hall. He stepped out of his corridor hurriedly, blocking her path. She nearly ran him down in her haste.

'Running is forbidden in the corridors,' he reminded her with a nasty smirk. 'Five points, Ms Granger.'

'Oh, er – I apologise, professor,' she gasped out. 'I just need to –'

She tried to sidestep him and continue, but Severus moved smoothly to block her way. She looked very upset… panicked, perhaps.

Something to do with Potter, then.

'Where are the other two, Ms Granger?' Severus asked, boring into her eyes with his darker ones.

'I – they left the Tower earlier than I did,' she evaded, biting her lip. 'Actually, I was looking for Professor McGonagall, sir, do you know where I might find her?'

Severus raised a sardonic eyebrow. 'I am not Minerva's keeper,' he said waspishly.

She coloured. 'No sir – of course,' she agreed in a rush. 'But I've already knocked at her quarters, and she wasn't there. I thought, perhaps, the Great Hall –'

'Breakfast is not served on Christmas morning for another ninety minutes,' he said dismissively. 'I suggest you –'

'This _can't_ wait, sir,' Granger said, most uncharacteristically cutting him off. 'I need to see her now! Harry –'

But she stopped herself, chewing her lip more ardently. Severus' gaze hardened. He knew, of course, where Minerva was. If she was not in her own rooms… then she must be with Albus. Unsurprising, given the holiday.

And he was not about to send Granger up to the headmaster.

'What could possibly be so urgent?' he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

Granger hesitated. 'I – er – can't you just tell me where…'

'MS GRANGER!' Severus snapped.

Looking quite torn, the girl seemed to steel herself before she went on. 'He got a new broomstick for Christmas, professor,' she admitted at last in a small voice.

'How joyous,' Severus said sarcastically. 'So the Golden Boy has finally ensured the Gryffindor side will not be denied their Seeker in the next match. It truly is Christmas.'

Granger frowned, her brown eyes flashing a bit. 'No, sir. You see….'

She hesitated again, and Severus lost his patience.

'Spit it out, girl!' he snarled at her.

Granger took another deep breath. 'It's just… I thought Professor McGonagall should see it first, sir. He doesn't know who sent it. There wasn't a note with the parcel. And it's a really good broom, apparently. It's called a Firebolt…'

Severus connected the dots even before she'd finished her explanation. Of _course_ , a broomstick… Potter would never be able to resist. Even without knowing Harry Potter, as Severus did, Black would have been able to guess… James was just the same, after all…

 _But why was the girl so panicky already?_

And a horrible thought occurred to him.

'WHERE _is_ Potter?' he asked, louder yet.

She looked back at him through tear-filled eyes. 'He and Ron went out with an elf, sir,' she admitted at last. 'To the Quidditch pitch. And I think –'

But Severus did not hear the rest of her mumbling words. He was already moving.

'Sir!' she called after him in alarm. He did not turn, though he could hear her racing behind him.

 _That foolish, arrogant brat…_ Just _like James Potter… and that resemblance was about to get him killed_...

Why was it _always_ Potter?!

Why was it always Severus that had to stop it?

He crested the hill, Granger still panting at his heels. He could hear them now – the boys on the pitch. Ron Weasley's red hair stood out like blood spatter on the snow, as he whooped in delight from next to a tiny House-elf.

Potter, predictably, was airborne already. Even as Severus quickened his pace, the Seeker started dropping at break-neck speed… barrelling down from a hundred-foot height headfirst toward the frozen ground… and Severus was sure he was already too late. He raised his wand, snarling a cushioning charm toward the falling body…

But Potter pulled out of the dive three feet from the ground, laughing as Weasley exclaimed colourfully again.

'Wicked, mate!' the boy said appreciatively as Potter leapt to the earth. 'That's the best I've ever seen you –'

Potter, however, had sighted the new arrivals. He spun Weasley wordlessly to face them, and his companion broke off his simpering praise with a horrified moan.

'Have you _entirely_ taken leave of your senses, you insolent brats!' Severus roared, finishing his charge in ten long strides. 'You – Go!' he commanded the little elf, who was shaking in fright and twisting her ears between long fingers. She disapparated with a squeal and a pop, and Severus whirled to face the boys again.

' _Accio_!' he snarled, pointing his wand at the broom in Potter's hand.

It did not move. For a moment, Severus' fury increased as he wondered whether Potter was using a wandless block against him… but Granger cut in –

'It can't be summoned by anyone but the owner, once the broom has imprinted to the rider. It's supposed to minimise possibility of theft or unlawful interference with play.'

Potter, Weasley, and even Severus turned to her, momentarily surprised out of their altercation. Granger's blotchy face grew more scarlet. 'It was in _Charms Quarterly_ ,' she explained in a high-pitched voice. 'It's the first time the specialised spell has been applied to international standard –'

'Hand it over, Potter!' Severus snapped, ignoring the remainder of Granger's insipid explanation.

When Potter merely stared at him, caught between surprise and defiance, Severus swept forward and grabbed hold of the broomstick himself.

'It's mine!' Potter cried hotly, tugging back. 'You can't take it! I need it to play, sir.'

'You seem to be labouring under the misguided impression that I care, Potter,' Severus spat viciously. He tightened his grip on the broomstick, jerking it forcibly out of Potter's grasp.

'Oi!' Weasley protested, looking even more indignant than Potter. But Severus shut him up with daggers from his eyes.

'You are _both_ out of bounds, flying about the pitch without permission or supervision,' he said silkily. 'I will take –'

'We weren't!' Potter put in vehemently. 'Lara's been out here the whole time, and it's not forbidden to be out on the pitch in the daytime, even when Quidditch isn't –'

' _You_ are forbidden from being _anywhere_ outside the walls of the castle without the presence of a qualified wizard!' Severus bellowed. 'And Weasley is quite aware of the fact. The House-elf is not a substitute, Potter, as you know perfectly well. That you chose to manipulate her into your scheme is but further proof that you knew the consequences. This escapade will cost you fifty points –'

' _Fifty_ –'

'EACH!' Severus snarled. 'And a week's worth of detention apiece, I should think.'

Weasley's face was so scarlet, Severus thought he was likely to burst the vessels in his eyes. Potter sputtered in rage for a moment, then clamped his jaw so hard that the muscles in his neck were taut.

'Fine,' the boy spat out. 'But you can't take the broom, _sir_. It's mine. And it isn't illegal to have –'

'Ms Granger informs me that you received this ridiculously extravagant broomstick without indication of a benefactor,' Severus said silkily, over the boy's argument.

Potter and Weasley both glared at their little friend, who blushed heavily. 'I'm sorry, Harry,' she said in a small voice. 'I wasn't – I was going for Professor McGonagall, I was frightened. Professor Snape found me in the corridor and he –'

'It's from Albus,' Potter said, tearing his eyes away from Granger and focusing defiantly on the Potions Master again. 'Or Minerva. The card's just got lost somehow.'

'You think so, do you?' Severus challenged. The boy nodded curtly, but Severus could see the doubt in his eyes.

' _I_ do not,' he said firmly. 'In fact, having been unwillingly privy to a discussion on the matter of your broom's unfortunate demise only yesterday evening, I can assure you with perfect certainty that neither the headmaster nor your Head of House harboured any intention to replace your mount as a Christmas present.'

Potter gaped at him. 'They must… they must have changed their minds,' he said.

Severus sneered. 'Or perhaps, Potter, you ought to use your undersized brain for once in your foolish life. _Who_ would possibly wish to send you a broomstick… a broomstick of such calibre that you would be tempted to fly it immediately, without a thought for possible dangers? _Who_ benefits, should you fall to your death fifty feet up from the ground?'

'Besides you, Malfoy, and the Slytherin Quidditch team, sir?' Weasley muttered under his breath.

'Another twenty points for cheek,' Severus said at once. But he did not tear his penetrating gaze from Potter's face, even to glare at Weasley.

'You… you _can't_ mean you think Sirius Black sent me this?' Potter said, gesturing toward the broomstick now clutched in Severus' hand. 'Why in Merlin's name _would_ he? Spend a fortune trying to kill me by enchanting a broomstick? It's mental.'

Severus took a step closer, his mouth furling into a sneer. 'Precisely, Potter,' he agreed in a low whisper, 'Which is why he should have been _first_ in your thoughts.'

He stepped back, adjusting the broomstick in one hand to better free his wand. 'Come,' he beckoned to the children. 'I believe you are all due a meeting with your Head of House and the headmaster.'

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 31:**

 **Bella** : Thanks for your review! I am sorry… I know it was a bit depressing. But I'm glad you liked it all the same :). The quote about Hell, incidentally, was something I've been saving for a while. I too think it is utterly true.

Enjoy Chapter 32!

 **Your Conscience** : Thanks for your review! And, incidentally, I laughed for a full minute when I saw the name you'd posted. It almost makes me want to grant you an assurance just for wit.

Alas, I cannot promise anything, in the long term. Death is a part of life, after all. I _will_ assure you that I have no immediate plans to off Dumbledore in _this_ book… and I am quite attached to him overall. I shall be heartbroken if the day arrives; but I cannot promise that it shan't. You'll have to keep reading to find out!

On that enigmatic note… I hope you like Chapter 32!

 **SpringRoll** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm sorry about that flashback… it broke my heart a bit to write it, to be honest. But I've been sitting on it for some time, and it felt best here. It is ironic that you ask for what you've asked for (not insolent, no worries) – because I'd literally just rung my sister as your review popped up and was chatting with her about how I wished, in retrospect, I hadn't given Sirius a love interest that I knew was already dead… because of course now I've grown attached. He _does_ deserve to find love again… but as to whether we might get there or what his resolution will be, I shall have to stay silent for now. :)

Glad you liked chapters 29 and 30! I feel like this has been a _long_ day… but we'll be speeding up the passage of time a bit this next instalment. It takes an emotional toll, this heady lot. I need a bit of a break! Still – happy to see you've enjoyed it. And I'm glad you caught the Ashwinder connection… a bit of an Easter Egg for those readers (like you!) who I know are as in love with all the canon treasures we've had since the close of Book Seven.

Ah, Albus. Truly, my favourite. I feel a bit badly for putting him through quite the emotional wringer these past few chapters as well. In some ways, he's had it as bad as Harry. But I think all those parallels… prophecies… uncertainties… they prey on his mind constantly. Watching him play chess-master, father-figure and mentor as the story moves deeper into darkness is something I'm quite looking forward to orchestrating. I hope you'll enjoy it!

Oh, and Ginny. Great question, because she pops by in an upcoming chapter for a bit. But yes… in canon POA, she gets _one_ significant mention in the entirety of their time at Hogwarts (so obviously discounting the pre-term scenes at the inn): when she visits Harry briefly in the hospital wing with a card after his Quidditch fall. Otherwise, she's largely MIA this novel. Which I suppose makes sense, as she doesn't really hang around with the trio much in the early years… but she'll play a bit of a larger role in this version.

And thank you for the well wishes! Yes… we are quite close to 'Twins-day'. Just a bit over a month to go, if things are on schedule. I still think they'll arrive mid-March, but James seems to think the first week – either way, very _very_ close now! I'll try not to interrupt writing too much when they finally arrive :)

Enjoy Chapter 32!

 **AECM** : Thanks for your review! Happy to hear you enjoyed it. As to your query… before the end of this book, though I have also expounded a bit on the impact of this to similar queries from a couple of other readers below. :) Hope you like Chapter 32!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad the chapter came at an opportune moment :)! It's been _such_ a long day today, for me as well, so I was well pleased to see your review too :)! I hope chemistry went well for you – quite admittedly not my favourite or best subject… probably why I became a barrister.

You are right about Harry's friends. I think that's true in 31, and also in this chapter… they are trying – they _really_ are – but losing your family, suffering that level of betrayal… you just _can't_ understand that level of grief and heartbreak if you haven't gone through it. I think Harry realises this, which is why he sort of gives up on forcing the issue… but it's a bit sad too. But going through the details of the night they died? Definitely harsh. Necessary, maybe… but quite harsh.

Mummy Minerva! So happy you liked it – I thought we were due. It's fun to turn the tables with her a bit, as I think Albus has had a few moments now of 'I didn't quite do the right thing, and I feel guilty'… but this is perhaps the first time Minerva feels _direct_ responsibility for making what was probably the wrong choice. But she's quite right – it _isn't_ ever too far, too much… until your response is not to be there any longer. And, of course, I just adore Minerva in full lion-tamer mode (when she bullies Harry and Albus into bed) – so it was fun to see her go from the under-hand position she started the chapter in to the one in charge.

Mmm… great questions on the Albus/Minerva conversation! Why _does_ he not say anything about the real reasons he's up all night? For me, at least, the answer is complicated. Albus' greatest strengths _and_ his greatest weaknesses are his abilities for love and his need to protect. He is altruistic. Not _quite_ as altruistic as (at least in Albus' view) Harry becomes… but not far off either. So there is one explanation, that he simply can't bring himself to burden her with the truth… because he knows it is dangerous knowledge, because he does not want it to haunt her like it haunts him, and because Minerva is _not_ an Occlumens. And then, I think, there is also a deep-seated fear and perhaps even a touch of shame about some of it: Grindelwald and the Hallows in particular. Albus does not want to admit the Ring/Stone has made him lose sleep, because doing so would be validating the severity of this obsession… this weakness… that cost him so severely the last time around. As of now, it is unclear whether even Minerva knows the extent of Albus' early relationship with Grindelwald and the Hallows. Would it be easier for him, if he unloaded all these burdens? Definitely. But that's the thing about Dumbledore, I suppose. He's good, and he's altruistic… but he is not known for bearing his soul – not even to those he loves the most. He suffers alone, to protect them and because some part of him feels that he _should_ suffer it alone – because it is his burden, his weakness, and (in the Hallows/Grindelwald case particularly) his mistake.

Ok, that answer was _way_ longer than I anticipated. Sorry!

The parenting talk – _so_ true. A lot of times, in fanfiction and in regular novels or even in life, people make these grievous mistakes from which they are never given redemption. But for parents and children, I truly think that this is the key: you _can_ work your way back from almost anything… if you are there to do so. Children – Harry, for certain, but really any child – need that, and crave that: someone to watch over them, advise them, catch them when they fall, and just simply someone to run to when they need a place to be safe. It would be true advice no matter their relationship with Harry, but it is particularly true now.

As to their relationship… Harry definitely has suspicions. Perhaps he does sort of know… but I think really it is that he hasn't thought it through, in that innocent sort of way children often don't. Certainly, Minerva in particular has tried not to flash it about or 'shock' him… but Albus is less concerned with such discretion and in the past few months even she has become a bit lax. There have been moments now where Harry is 'surprised' that Minerva is there so early or so late, or notes that she's there in casual dress or nightclothes… and of course they had that little Christmas kiss… but he hasn't really had overt confirmation. Don't worry, it _is_ coming (and rather soon), now that Harry's a bit older and growing less naïve. And the resulting queries should answer everyone's questions about what, exactly, that relationship is.

Sirius. I _almost_ couldn't write this, because it _is_ so sad and I felt terrible for the bloke. However, as bitter as it is, the first draft of this segment was actually much, much more depressing. I substituted out the memory for a happier one, because I could not handle it. Great question about how one could keep his sanity – but I have one of my own. _Is_ Sirius sane, still? Is he truly? I would posit not. I think Sirius is deeply, perhaps (on some level) permanently, affected by all that he's been through – the war, the deaths, the betrayal and Azkaban. I think we can see this, when we compare Sirius of the past and Sirius of the present. Is he truly the same person? Perhaps yes, but perhaps not. Not entirely. And no matter all of the other things and feelings that go through his mind, he is always drawn back to his current obsession to find and destroy Wormtail. Which goes, in part, to Albus' advice to Harry back in Godric's Hollow – there is a paradox in human emotion… we often _want_ revenge, but vengeance and justice are not the same thing. And vengeance, while it might make us feel better in the immediate aftermath, doesn't _give_ us remedy for the injustices that we have suffered. It does not heal us. Sirius won't regain his happiness or his friends and loved ones by getting his revenge either… and that is something he will have to grapple with before the end of this book.

You are the second reviewer this chapter to ask for a future love :). I share your desires to give him happiness… though I love Marley, she _is_ gone. I cannot speak to the future, as it would give away plans for Sirius, but I promise to think about it.

And now, this answer is enormous, and I should probably stop as well. I do hope your fingers have recovered somewhat… and I hope you enjoy Chapter 32!

 **Laura1996** : Thank you for reviewing! Glad you found the stories and that you are liking them so far. I try to keep updates fairly regular, so hopefully you won't find it too long between chapters in future. Although I am expecting twins next month, so no firm promises on precisely how often updates may be for the next few weeks.

The question you've asked is actually something another reader also queried this chapter. The short answer is, Harry is not specifically aware that they are together, no. He has had a few moments of suspicion (or perhaps, more like wonder/confusion) over their relationship… but really he's just sort of been naïve / blind to the possibility. (I talked about this a bit in the response above as well.) Will he have an 'aha!' moment on the subject in future? Yes. But I'm also not sure it really makes that much of a difference – in terms of his character and the implications for him in the story (at least, not at this _point_ in the story). Okay, I know everyone is probably going mad – I can hear the protests already… but, truthfully, Albus and Minerva's relationship and the extent of that relationship makes a great deal of difference to _them_ , of course. But to Harry? They are acting in a parent/mentor/protector role – each of them, both separately and together – regardless of whether they are _romantically_ together. So, for Harry, I don't really think what he knows about their level of intimacy/relationship beyond the 'close confidants or partners' level has much of a direct impact. Right now.

Still, he will have his moment of realisation, I promise. I just don't want readers to become under the impression that this revelation will change much for Harry, on a deep level… because that closeness and protection _he_ feels from them is already there, and it is not contingent on their romantic connection.

Alright, that was rather a long answer. But I hope it helps clarify the issue a bit. I hope you enjoy Chapter 32!

 **Psitomer** : Thanks for the message! Hope everything goes well with school and such, and that you continue to enjoy the story even if you don't have time to review. Our family (almost ready to grow!) is going very well, thank you, and James and I wish the best to you and yours!

Enjoy Chapter 32!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for your review! Haha, I don't know quite how to respond without spoilers galore. So I will say this… we aren't going to be following canon in the case of who lives and who dies and how those deaths necessarily occur – at least, not all the time. But there _will_ be some deaths… and while some characters who do not survive JKR's series will manage to make it out of mine, there will also be characters who live through Deathly Hallows who will _not_ live to see the conclusion of Child of Hogwarts. The story is basically mapped out in terms of character deaths and the reasons behind them… though of course things could always change if something occurs to me later on.

I'm sure that was not a reassuring enough response, but I don't want to spoil the story.

As to your other query, no – they are definitely not taking the Sirius situation well… which should set us up nicely for some upcoming drama! Enjoy Chapter 32!

 **mwinter1** : Thanks for your review! I am glad you're enjoying the series, and hope the speediness of this update was satisfactory. Hope you like Chapter 32!


	33. The Limits of Friendship

**A/N:** New chapter again! Product, sadly, of horrible insomnia. A dire warning to all those who hope one day to be pregnant… for all the joys at the end of the road, nobody properly prepares you for the fact that in the final few weeks, you are _exhausted_ and yet completely in capable of sleep. *Sighs* in any case, I hope you lot are pleased with the pace, because it's killing me over here! I expect the next one will not be quite so immediate.

Enjoy 'The Limits of Friendship,' and **please read and review**!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **Chapter 33: The Limits of Friendship**

It definitely wasn't Harry's best ever Christmas.

Snape marched all three of them off the pitch, straight through the doors of the castle, all the way up the grand staircase, down the corridor, and through the gargoyle. Harry still secretly hoped he might leave them on the magical spiralling stairs… but he knew his wishes were in vain.

Nobody spoke a word during the fifteen-minute journey. Snape was still seething so thoroughly, Harry could actually feel the waves of angry magic rolling off the Potions Master. Ron was looking rather ill, like he had done the time Snape had caught him and Harry after they'd crashed the Ford Anglia into the Whomping Willow. Hermione, on Snape's other side, was still scarlet in the face, tears falling silently down her cheeks.

Harry wasn't sure what emotion he felt most acutely. On the one hand, he was furious with Snape for confiscating the Firebolt… and, perhaps, just a smidge, because he knew the Potions Master was right this time: about his rationalisation of his and Ron's trip into the grounds, and about the possibility that his new treasure might have come from a nefarious sender. He was annoyed he hadn't thought of that himself.

At the same time, he felt bad for getting Ron into trouble too, when it was really _Harry's_ issues that prevented their being allowed in the grounds on a Christmas morning. And – though he knew in a rational part of his brain that she _hadn't_ meant it maliciously – he was angry with Hermione for revealing them; for bringing Snape's wrath upon their heads.

But as Dumbledore's office drew nearer and nearer, Harry's primary emotion became trepidation.

Because he _knew_ Albus would be severely disappointed. And Minerva… she'd agree with Snape, wholeheartedly. He'd lose this battle.

Snape raised the hand that was free of Harry's broomstick, and knocked three times on the door to the circular office.

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Albus and Minerva had just dressed for the day and were in the sitting area, sharing a pot of tea before breakfast, when the familiar knock came upon the door. Albus was slightly surprised – Christmas morning visits had never been a particular penchant of Severus'.

'Enter!' he called, placing his tea on the side table and standing.

Minerva kept her seat and her own cup, but her eyebrows rose at once as Severus, Harry, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger traipsed into the room – the Potions Master carrying a gleaming broomstick. One look at Severus' expression told Albus this would not be a visit of Christmas cheer.

'Headmaster,' the professor ground out, his dark eyes flashing. 'I have just apprehended Potter and Weasley on the Quidditch pitch, testing out Potter's new _broomstick_. A broomstick which, Ms Granger informs me, Potter received this morning from an _anonymous_ benefactor.'

He held out the broom, on which the word _Firebolt_ was etched in gold lettering. Albus took it, frowning as he rolled it in his hands.

' _On the_ –' Minerva started, throwing herself to her feet and looking ready to burst. But Albus held up a hand to stay her fury.

'In good time, Minerva,' he said quietly.

He, too, had pressing questions about the morning's activities. But they were not the most paramount concern, given that the boy was hale and healthy in front of him.

'Harry?' he asked, turning his gaze to the frightened-looking teenager. 'Where did you get this broomstick?'

Harry swallowed hard. 'I – I thought it was from you,' he admitted.

Severus made a noise of disbelief, and two high spots of colour appeared in Harry's cheeks.

'Well… I didn't,' he corrected himself. 'Not really, I suppose. But there wasn't any _other_ explanation that made sense, and Ron thought you or Minerva had given it to me. It came with the Christmas parcels. I opened it first thing this morning.'

Albus searched his face, but Harry appeared to be telling the truth. 'And there was no note from a sender?' he prompted.

Harry shook his head. 'We looked, sir,' he assured him. 'Ron and I – we checked all through the bedding and the other gifts and everything… but there wasn't a note or card at all. I thought maybe it'd just fallen off somewhere – got lost.'

'Did you?' Albus asked quietly.

Harry shuffled his feet.

Albus sighed. 'You have good instincts, Harry,' he said gently. 'But they come to nothing if you do not use them. This was not a difficult leap to make… and you would have done, if you were not wilfully blinding yourself.'

'So you think it's true, then?' Harry asked, raising his eyes. 'You think Sirius Black sent the Firebolt to me?'

'I think it is the most likely possibility,' Albus confirmed. 'And as such, I am astounded and highly concerned to hear you would take such a gift – from an unknown source – and think it remotely advisable to test it out in the air without seeking permission or supervision.'

'We… we weren't out there alone, sir,' Ron put in.

It was the first either of the other two children had spoken, and Ron's voice was high-pitched and terrified. Minerva gave him a sharp look at the interruption, but Albus turned to address him.

'Who was with you?' he asked politely.

'A House-elf,' Ron said. 'Harry didn't want to go out without someone… I suggested he call her. It was all my idea, sir. I was the one who convinced Harry to –'

'It wasn't your fault, Ron,' Harry spoke over him. 'It was mine. I knew I shouldn't go… and it's not like I needed any real convincing. And I was the one who decided to call her.'

'Mina?' Minerva asked, eyebrows raised again. 'I am surprised she would ever consent to take you… knowing herself of the headmaster's wishes and my own.'

But Harry was shaking his head, his cheeks reddening further. 'I didn't call Mina,' he corrected. 'I knew she wouldn't have let me go… so I called Lara instead.'

'Why, Harry?' Albus enquired. He gazed intently at the child again.

Harry hung his head. 'Because I knew she was new to the school,' he admitted. 'And I knew she… she probably didn't know it wouldn't be allowed.'

'You deliberately disobeyed me,' he said softly. 'And, worse, you took advantage of the innocence of another to do so.'

Harry's face was as brightly crimson as his scarf. He kept his eyes on the floor.

'I would like you to apologise to Lara, Harry,' Albus told him seriously. 'It is not admirable to play upon the ignorance of others for personal benefit – no matter how innocent the endeavour may be. Lara is probably punishing herself, for angering a Hogwarts professor. I hope you can see the injustice in this. And I hope you will seek to make amends.'

'Yes, sir,' Harry mumbled. 'I'll go and see her before luncheon. She shouldn't… she shouldn't be blamed, sir. She didn't know.'

'She did not,' Minerva affirmed. Her voice was barely under control as she stepped forward toward the group. 'But you _did_ , Harry. Weasley – you were not ignorant either. What possibly could have possessed you to abandon all sense?'

Harry and Ron both winced. But Albus considered her words… was this a reaction, perhaps, to the revelations of the past few weeks?

'Harry, if you need to discuss further what happened in Remus' study,' he began, softening his expression slightly, 'Then I am more than willing to have that discussion with you. But I would much rather you came to me than –'

'Albus, this is not some angst-ridden act of self-destruction!' Severus interrupted, looking as though the very thought brought bile to his throat. 'Do not turn this to place blame upon yourself for the boy's actions. This is _Potter's_ modus operandi – acting the foolhardy, arrogant teenager that he –'

'I'm _not_ arrogant!' Harry cut across him, broken from his state of high embarrassment for the first time. 'I just made a mistake, alright? Why do you _always_ –'

Minerva sent off a bang from her wand, so loud that it startled all six of the office's occupants. Harry and Severus both swallowed their rants.

'It's not about Sirius Black,' Harry confirmed in a calmer voice, once everyone had settled again. 'I know I messed up… I wasn't thinking. I just wanted to try out the broom. But I didn't do it because of what I heard, that day. I didn't do it to be reckless on purpose. And I _am_ sorry, really sorry.'

Minerva drew herself up. 'You will be disciplined for this, the both of you,' she warned Harry and Ron sternly. 'I think –'

'Professor Snape's already taken fifty points each from us,' Ron told her, just barely managing to swallow his resentment. ' _And_ he's given us a week's worth of detention.'

Hermione, who had not said anything of yet, whimpered slightly.

'An appropriate punishment,' Minerva agreed in a clipped voice.

'Severus, perhaps you would give us a moment?' Albus suggested meaningfully.

Harry and Severus were still glaring daggers at one another, and the headmaster knew he would be unable to bring the heated conversation to an appropriate conclusion if he did not defuse the situation.

Severus glowered, but he gave a short nod of acknowledgement and swept from the room. When the door had shut behind him, Albus gestured the children toward the sitting area.

'Sit down,' he invited them.

He pointed his wand at the tea set, multiplying it for three additional guests. Then he spent a few moments in silence, giving each child a cup. None of them were daring to raise their eyes. Minerva, who still looked barely more in control of her anger than Severus had been, remained standing at the hearth.

'How do you know the broom was from Black?' Harry asked at last.

'Know?' Albus repeated. 'I do not know, Harry. Not for certain. But it seems to me the most probable explanation.'

'There wasn't anything wrong with it,' Ron put in. 'Harry was flying before Sn- Professor Snape –' he corrected himself at the flash in Minerva's eyes – 'came out to get us. It didn't try to buck him off or anything, sir. Not like that time at the first match, when Quirrell was jinxing it.'

'There is no way to know that something similar _wouldn't_ have happened, had Harry remained in flight,' Minerva said sharply. 'There might be a timed Hurling Hex, for example, or it might be charmed to become un-grippable at a certain height. Or it may be that the enchantment is not meant to alter the broom at all – but pervade the rider. It might be spelled to make Harry unable to maintain focus or control… it might even be coated in poison or dark magic that would injure him another way.'

Ron paled. Harry swallowed hard and Hermione whimpered. Harry did not protest as Minerva followed up her dire warnings by casting a full diagnostic scan on the boy.

'As Minerva has pointed out,' Albus went on while the golden light ran over Harry's form, 'The fact that nothing untoward happened this morning is not necessarily proof that the broom is safe for use. I did not detect any dark magic in holding it myself… but that, too, is hardly a definitive prognosis. It will need to be examined at length to determine the existence of any potential dangers.'

'At length?' Harry repeated, looking crestfallen. Minerva caught up the scroll of parchment from her spell as he spoke, frowning down at it.

'Indeed,' the headmaster said. He gave the child a penetrating stare over his half-moon spectacles. 'I would not return it to you today, Harry, even if I could guarantee its safety. I do think a period of time without it will be beneficial: will help you to reflect on the seriousness of your actions this morning.'

Harry blushed again.

'He's fine,' Minerva determined shortly. She banished the diagnostic scroll with a flick of her wand, and turned to glare at Harry again. 'It will take some time to ensure the broomstick is safe, Harry,' she told him sternly. 'Some of the necessary diagnostics may take several weeks –'

' _Weeks_?!' Harry repeated in alarm. Minerva's eyes flashed again, and he clammed up.

'Charms and most spellwork can be detected more quickly,' Albus explained patiently. 'But there are certain types of dark magic which will require potions to entirely rule out. They are not, at this time, potions that we normally keep on hand. Their preparation can be lengthy.'

As he said it, and thinking back on the events of the past few months, remembering Gellert's cryptic warnings, Albus made a mental note to _ensure_ that Severus kept such detection potions and antidotes on hand in future… no matter that they still seemed to be living between the wars. He could not, after all, guarantee that they would remain so much longer.

'In the meantime,' he went on aloud, 'I shall investigate the source of this gift.'

'How can you do that, sir?' Hermione piped up in a small voice. She went scarlet as he turned his attention to her. 'I mean… without a note or anything to go off?'

Albus smiled. 'Fortunately, we have several advantages even without a note,' he said kindly. 'For one, there are few shops in Britain that currently offer broomsticks – even less this particular model. Of course, it is entirely possible the broom was purchased abroad… but the odds are much less likely. Moreover, every Firebolt is issued with one of these.'

He picked up the broomstick again, turning it so the numbers on the opposite side gleamed in the firelight.

'The serial number,' Harry said, understanding dawning in his face. 'They're unique to each broomstick.'

'Precisely,' Albus agreed with a nod. 'Even if the shop this broom was purchased in maintains poor records, the manufacturer will be able to enlighten us as to which seller the broom was issued. From there, I expect it will not be difficult to determine how it was purchased.'

'But…' Harry frowned. 'But, sir, even if Sirius Black _did_ buy the Firebolt… how could he have walked into a shop and just got one off the shelf? Wouldn't someone have recognised him? Or… do you think he enchanted the shopkeeper, somehow? Or nicked it?'

'We cannot rule out enchantment, or theft,' Albus acknowledged. 'Though I think the latter less likely. But that, Harry, is the real mystery of it all. Perhaps he disguised himself somehow… perhaps he convinced another to purchase the broomstick on his behalf… or, perhaps, he sent an order by post, using an alternate identity. There are many ways he might have accomplished such a feat.'

'I suppose,' Harry agreed in a mumble.

'Now I think, Ms Granger, you deserve some commendation for your own part in today's events,' Albus said, turning to look at the girl again. Hermione started in surprise. Ron and Harry both stiffened, jaws clenched.

'I – pardon, sir?' she asked tentatively. 'I didn't… I don't deserve anything, sir,' she went on. 'I just wanted to fetch Professor McGonagall…'

'Yet you informed Professor Snape, and in doing so saved both your friends from possible harm,' Albus reminded her gently. 'That was not an easy decision – to put your friends' wellbeing ahead of their certain anger. The choice between what is right and what is easy is often the most difficult we ever face, Ms Granger. And the most important. I shall award you fifty points, for making the correct one.'

Hermione blushed more deeply than ever, looking away to hide renewed tears. The boys looked simultaneously outraged and embarrassed. Albus, considering the empty cups all around, decided the moment had come to end this discussion. He looked pointedly at Minerva, who nodded.

'I shall inform you if and when you may have the broomstick back,' Minerva said to Harry. She set her own empty tea cup upon the tray. 'Now come – it is time you changed for breakfast.'

She turned for the door and her three students scrambled to follow. Albus shadowed them toward the edge of the office.

'Harry,' Albus said, catching his shoulder and holding him back. He allowed Minerva to chivvy the other two from the study before he spoke again.

'Yes?' Harry asked, looking wary as the office door shut.

'I will not hide that I am disappointed by the events of today,' the headmaster said, fixing Harry with his most serious gaze. 'It is difficult, I know, for you to see this now… for you to appreciate all the precautions and safety measures that we insist you take. But I know that you understand the danger Sirius Black poses… and I know you realise that I am right.'

'I know,' Harry mumbled, shamefaced again. 'I _am_ sorry, sir.'

Albus took his chin by the finger, lifting his head so their eyes met again. 'I know you are,' he said more gently. 'But I need you to promise me, Harry, that you will take more care in future. I cannot make you heed me, my dear child. I cannot ensure that you are protected without question from all the dangers in this world… but I cannot protect you from _anything_ , if you do not wish to be protected; if you throw your life carelessly into the path of more danger. You must meet me halfway. Do you understand?'

'I… yes,' said Harry softly. 'I promise.'

Albus smiled. 'Good,' he said simply. He released Harry's chin.

'Now, let us get on with the Christmas celebration, and try to leave this unpleasantness behind us.'

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It was a frosty Christmas feast. Harry was still feeling ashamed of himself, not least because Lara was so quick to forgive him when he ducked into the kitchens between breakfast and luncheon to apologise to her. He thought he would have felt better if she'd shouted and raged; just like he felt it would be easier to deal with an angry Dumbledore than a disappointed one.

He and Ron weren't speaking to Hermione. Harry knew she'd done what she thought was best… but it did not change the fact that, save for her interference, Harry would not have got into trouble at all. He was _sure_ there was nothing wrong with the broom: he'd been flying a good twenty minutes before Snape came upon them, and nothing whatsoever had occurred to give him anxiety. Although he understood Albus and Minerva's concern, and certainly their upset with him over his being in the grounds at all… he was miserable that they'd taken the Firebolt from him. And the petulant part of his brain maintained that it was Hermione's fault.

Ron wholeheartedly agreed. He was stung at the plethora of House points they'd lost, even with the headmaster's reward for Hermione's actions – or, perhaps, _because_ Albus and Minerva had rewarded her for her snitching. His anger was compounded three-fold when they'd returned in silence to the common room and he'd tossed his cloak onto a sofa without considering that Scabbers still slept in the front pocket. Crookshanks lost no time in pouncing on the shabby fabric, tearing a deep rip in the cloak in addition to frightening Scabbers so badly that they'd had to spend almost an hour coaxing him out from under a chest of drawers. The incident – on top of an already tense morning – had led to the most blazing row Harry had ever witnessed between the pair of them. The shouting gave him a headache, and he didn't want to be involved… so he retired upstairs for a lie down while they went at it. When he'd got up again for the feast, Ron was too irritated for words at all and Hermione's eyes were swollen with hours of tears.

They made their way together into the Great Hall in stony silence. There was just one table set for the feast – with twelve seats. Harry and Ron plopped down next to the Slytherin fifth year, Stefan, that Harry had teamed with in the snow earlier that week. Hermione chose a seat next to the pair of first year students on the other side of the table instead. Apart from the six of them, only Albus, Minerva, Snape, Sprout, Flitwick and Filch were in attendance. Hagrid hadn't shown, to Harry's great surprise. Flitwick and Sprout both looked curious at the unusual gravitas pervading the table, and Albus glanced between the boys and Hermione with a frown. Even Stefan looked as though he wanted to comment, but he passed along the tray of rolls without opening his mouth.

Dumbledore put on a cheery air as he handed out crackers, but the gaiety felt false to Harry. He barely even cracked a smile as Snape's revealed a pointed witch's hat of uncanny similarity to the boggart-Snape's that Neville had dressed in his gran's clothing… though Ron caught his eye with an amused expression when Albus swapped out to wear it. When the doors opened again halfway through the first course and Sybill Trelawney waltzed dreamily into the room, Harry was almost glad of the surety of impending doom to follow.

Predictably, Trelawney made an absolute scene of joining them at all – which caused Minerva to scoff and Snape to look like he'd been forced to swallow a lemon. She direly predicted that her thirteenth chair would doom the first to rise to an early death… which, of course, turned out to be Harry at the end of the lengthy meal (though he'd shared the honour with Ron, so he wasn't sure it really counted).

They called it a fairly early night after that – Harry and Ron not feeling up to returning to the Great Hall for a late supper, and sufficiently full from the feast. Hermione retreated to the girls' dormitory on their return and did not emerge again. Neither of the other two felt like pushing the issue.

Harry could not help it. What sort of state would the broom be in, if he ever _did_ get it back? After it had been put under all those unnecessary detection spells? If it weren't for Hermione…

The week between Christmas and New Year was not nearly as fun as the week that preceded it. As amusing as Harry always found Aberforth's company, he was less than cheerful on Boxing Day at luncheon. Aberforth seemed to find Harry's streak of rebellion highly entertaining (as Harry had not been injured and had succeeded in infuriating Snape, who Aberforth seemed to dislike), but his amusement was not shared by a still snippy Minerva or his quietly disapproving brother. Remus, perhaps in deference to his own newly repaired relationship with Harry, did not chastise him; but Harry could read disapproval in his face nonetheless.

In his anti-Dementor lesson on Wednesday evening, Harry felt like he struggled worse than ever. He spent more time on his back than his feet – his guilt over the Firebolt incident and his disappointment with Hermione seeming to block any attempt to reach a happy memory. After four unsuccessful tries, Remus suggested they might do better with tea than additional practise. His wandless lesson with Snape the following evening was not much better. Harry hadn't bothered to peruse his book from Remus yet, in the wake of all that had happened over the holiday; and he was completely incapable of channelling anything past his foul temper. This, naturally, only incensed Snape more, and he threw Harry from his classroom twenty minutes early with remonstrations of disgust and a threat of more detention if Harry didn't show some improvement the following week.

He hadn't seen Hermione much at all since Christmas Day. She'd taken to revising in her room or the library, and she seemed to be timing her meals so that she, Harry and Ron would not share the table. Ron, though not angry with Harry, had been in a mood almost as surly as his friend's all week. It was with relief that Harry reached Sunday, when the rest of the school filed back to the Great Hall off the Hogwarts Express. The Great Hall and the Common Room were both noisy and cheerful again with the flood of students fresh of holiday, and Harry found it was easier to ignore his own melancholy when the world around him did not seem quite so attuned to his distress.

Wood, who had clearly spent the whole of the holiday working out a strategy for the rest of the Quidditch season, sought him out within hours of his return to the school for an update. Harry told him, truthfully, that he was working on his Dementor issues with Remus… and about the Firebolt's arrival.

'But don't get too chuffed, Oliver,' he warned darkly, as Wood sputtered himself into delighted nirvana. 'I haven't got it, really. Not anymore. The headmaster and McGonagall have confiscated it.'

' _What?!_ ' Wood cried, looking like Harry had just announced a plot to give up his firstborn son.

'Yeah,' Harry said gloomily. 'They reckon it might be cursed. Sirius Black – he's supposed to be after me. They think he might have sent it.'

'You can't curse a Firebolt,' Wood said confidently, ignoring the information on Black as he shook his head in disbelief. 'And Black can't have just strolled into a shop and bought a broomstick – his face is plastered across every alley in Britain!'

'Yeah, well, you're welcome to have your go if you fancy it,' said Harry mulishly. 'But I don't reckon they'll budge until they've checked it over. McGonagall said they'd try to finish stripping it down by the end of the month –'

' _Stripping it down_ …' Wood repeated, looking ill.

'But she wouldn't give me a promise,' Harry finished.

Wood rushed off through the portrait hole, his jaw set.

He wasn't at all surprised when the Quidditch captain reappeared an hour later, looking like he'd been set over Minerva's knee. He informed Harry sheepishly that they'd know more next week, and hustled off muttering about over-protective teachers not having their priorities straight.

January creeped by at a snail's pace, wintry weather and torrents of chilly rain vying for dominance in the skies. Lessons resumed in the same dull drone as the beating elements against the mullioned windows. Harry and Ron completed their revolting week's worth of detentions with Snape (disembowelling barrels of mountain newts and beheading horned toads), and Minerva's temper thawed toward him as the days rolled by. Ravenclaw and Slytherin faced off a fortnight into term, though the grounds were still muddy and half-frozen. Slytherin came out on top – though narrowly – and Wood upped their training to five nights a week in celebration… as this meant Gryffindor could bump up to second place if they beat Ravenclaw as well.

Harry had finally seen some improvement in Dementor training by the last lesson of January, capable of holding his feet for a full thirty seconds and producing that indistinct grey mist every time. The effort nearly exhausted him, but he was pleased that at least he hadn't completely lost his ability to cast in light of his current difficulties. He got around to Remus' suggested reading by about that time too, and he finally succeeded in unlocking the last of those damn chests on the final Thursday of the month. Though, as Snape reminded him waspishly, he had yet to master the re-locking portion of the task. Hagrid, in an improvement that almost stunned, gave them a few weeks' worth of Flobberworm-free Care of Magical Creatures lessons on the Fire Salamander, and Harry managed to share tea with the headmaster twice without feeling a heady weight of disappointment on his shoulders.

Even with these incremental improvements, however, one area of the Christmas disaster did not see any change.

Hermione had emerged from the dormitory, but she and the boys were still not speaking to one another. She could be found every evening in the common room, working diligently on her mountain of assignments. Twice a week, she and Harry used the Time-Turner together to attend Arithmancy lessons. It was awkward for both – travelling in this perpetual quiet and sitting together through the lessons. Where they had always had comradery in a classroom full of mainly Slytherins, there was now only chilly silence.

Draco Malfoy, unsurprisingly, had pounced on this tension like a striking cobra. Whenever Professor Vector had her back turned, he needled Harry under his breath from his place a few seats over. Harry tried valiantly to ignore him… but he had accidentally exploded his ink pot twice in the effort.

'Poor Potty,' Malfoy teased outside the Potions classroom as the students queued up for Snape one Friday afternoon at the end of the month. 'Gone off your little girlfriend, have you? Not that I'd call that mane little, mind.'

'Shut it, Malfoy,' Harry spat back through gritted teeth, refusing to face the taunt.

Hermione, who was several bodies up the queue, stiffened at the insult but did not turn. He saw her hand stroke the back of her bushy head self-consciously. Whatever his feelings toward her right now, the gesture sent a pang of anger and hurt through his chest.

'Don't misunderstand me, Potter,' Malfoy continued in a tone of mock offence. 'I'm _proud_ of you, really. You must be growing up – recognising the fact that association with that long-toothed _Mudblood_ will only –'

But Harry did not hear the rest of Malfoy's jeer. Before he even registered moving, he had dropped his bag to the ground and sprung at the Slytherin, socking him hard across the jaw with his wand-free hand.

Malfoy was completely taken by surprise. He staggered sideways into Daphne Greengrass, who was only saved from falling to the stone floor of the corridor by Blaise Zabini on her other side.

Goyle pulled Malfoy roughly to his feet again, while Crabbe raised his fist to pummel Harry in retaliation. Ron and Neville hurried forward to back him up, but –

'WHAT is going on here?' Snape's cold voice demanded.

Most unfortunately, the door to the Potions classroom had opened.

There was a bang and a burst of yellow light, and Harry and Malfoy were thrown back from each other as Snape swept smoothly down the corridor.

'The rest of you – inside, now!' he barked. The remaining Slytherin and Gryffindor students filed silently past, taking their seats in the dungeon.

'Explain,' Snape commanded, turning to Malfoy. His face was set in the lines of white-hot fury Harry recognised so well by now, and he felt his stomach drop out as Malfoy gave him a malicious smirk before replying.

'Potter attacked me, sir,' he said, rubbing at the side of his jaw. 'I said something about him and Granger being on the outs these past few weeks, and he started a fight. _Muggle_ duelling, of course, as he can't –'

'The facts are enough, Mr Malfoy,' Snape interrupted. His voice was not as fierce as Harry knew it would be when he addressed _him_ , but his tone was much harsher than Harry had ever heard him use with Malfoy before.

'He insulted Hermione!' Harry put in defensively. 'He called her "Mudblood," sir. And I –'

'Feeble taunts do not excuse physical violence, Potter!' Snape snapped, whirling to face him. 'You shall return this evening for detention – eight o'clock.'

Harry ground his teeth, though he was hardly surprised at the punishment. 'Yes, sir,' he begrudgingly acknowledged, knowing any additional retort would only lose him house points.

'Go inside and join your classmates,' Snape said, turning back to Malfoy. Harry looked between them, frowning. 'Now!' Snape bellowed, throwing him a glare again.

Harry nodded and scampered off toward the open door. It slammed shut behind him without admitting Snape or Malfoy.

Shaking his head at the odd end to the scene, Harry fell into his usual seat. Hermione was bent over her books at the work table to his left with her long hair hiding her face. Ron, to his right, looked incensed.

'That evil git!' he hissed to Harry as the latter unpacked his bag. 'Rotten timing, but it's not like I'm surprised. How many points he dock you this time?'

Harry shook his head, still stung from the entire interaction. 'None,' he admitted. 'But he gave me detention. Like I haven't spent half my life in this sodding dungeon late-'

But he cut himself off as the door to the classroom banged off the stone wall again. Snape strode into the room, still looking furious, with one long-fingered hand clenched on Malfoy's shoulder. He released the boy as he reached his desk. Malfoy hurried to his own seat with one, scathing look for Harry as he passed. Harry thought his cheeks seemed rather pink.

'What are you all dawdling for?' Snape spat at the class, crossing his arms as he leered at them over the desk. 'You are all aware that today's lesson will be focused on brewing the Sinus Solution we discussed last meeting. I see no reason for idleness. _Well_? Turn to page 748 at once!'

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Severus was still seething, awaiting the boy in his classroom that evening. He'd given Draco Malfoy a chastisement the likes of which he doubted the spoiled child had ever received… though he was not sure the decision had been wise. It would not do, after all, to give Lucius a reason for anger with him.

'I might need a bruise balm,' the pale boy had said, rubbing his jaw again as Severus sent the door slamming behind Potter. 'That git struck me pretty –'

'Turn your face,' Severus said impatiently.

Draco complied, and Severus brightened the tip of his wand to examine the boy's jawline. He felt it gently with the tips of his fingers. Draco gave an exaggerated hiss, but Severus did not think the damage significant enough to warrant a diagnostic or a trip to the hospital wing.

'It is minimally bruised,' he said, dropping his grip on Draco's face. 'It will heal without marking.'

'But it _hurts_ ,' the boy whinged.

Severus glared. 'Good,' he said coldly. 'Let it be a reminder, Draco, that foolish actions beget foolish consequences. You should not antagonise him so, whatever this petty rivalry between the two of you. The headmaster will not take kindly to damage to his precious Golden Boy… and I grow weary of playing referee. My classroom will not be the scene of childish quarrels. You are growing too old for them, and the lessons we will be covering in the coming terms are too volatile on their own for further tomfoolery.'

Draco dropped his mouth in horror. 'You _hate_ Potter!' he pointed out, shocked. 'What's it to you if I make life a bit more difficult for him?'

'I care not what you feel for Potter or whether you choose to continue your foolish games with him,' Severus said impassively. 'But you _will_ keep your nonsense out of my classroom, Draco. Or you will find you do not enjoy the consequences. Let Potter and his lot alone inside the walls of this dungeon.'

'Well, we weren't _in_ the dungeon yet,' Draco mumbled petulantly. 'And Granger… she just begs for it. Always showing off – the Mudblood with –'

Severus grabbed his shoulder – hard. Draco stopped speaking, suddenly looking frightened.

'DO NOT use that word again, do you hear me?!' the Potions Master spat, his nose inches from the boy's.

'Why?' Draco challenged, recovering enough to shove out from under Severus' grip. 'It's what everyone calls them.'

Severus forced his temper into check again. It was difficult. ' _You_ are not everyone, Draco,' he said firmly. 'You are of my House, and I expect you will conduct yourself with more reserve and more foresight than this. To use such a term in mixed company is likely to advertise your allegiances unnecessarily… even your father would not thank you for that.'

It was true enough, though not why he took issue with it.

Draco sighed. 'Yes, sir,' he agreed begrudgingly. 'Am I allowed to go to the lesson, now?'

Severus' eyes flashed. 'You _may_ , yes,' he agreed. 'But you will use less cheek the next time you speak to me. Whatever rapport we may enjoy, Draco, I will not be disrespected by a child. And you have lost Slytherin House twenty points today for your actions.'

' _Twenty_ points?!' Draco repeated in horror. 'For _what_?'

'For putting pettiness above cleverness,' Severus said simply. 'Now come, before one of your cohorts blows my classroom to pieces in our absence.'

He doubted, on the whole, Draco was likely to repeat the lecture. He had been embarrassed by the reprimand, and he was probably too frightened by the possibility of his father's shared disappointment to go to Lucius for assistance.

At least, Severus was counting on that assessment.

The other part of this quandary he had been pondering for weeks. And he still was not quite sure how – or even if – he should deal with it. But it was too late to turn back now. It had been too late, really, for more than a decade.

Potter's knock came on the door at precisely eight o'clock.

'Enter!' Severus called, and the boy pushed through the door, looking taciturn.

'Shall I get another barrel, sir?' Potter asked mulishly.

Severus set aside the essays he'd been marking before the boy's entrance and considered him with a frown.

'No,' he said. 'I wish to speak with you first, Potter. Sit.'

Potter held in a groan with difficulty, but he plopped down in the student chair the professor indicated. Severus leaned back in his own, studying Potter closely over the desk. Lily's eyes stared defiantly back at him. As they always did, in James Potter's face.

'When did you become friends with Ms Granger?' he asked suddenly.

Potter started in surprise. Then his gaze grew calculating. 'Why?' he challenged.

'Just answer the question, Potter!' Severus snapped.

Potter sighed. 'I don't know, precisely, sir,' he said, playing with the turn-ups of his robes. 'It sort of creeps up on you. But I suppose… in first year, about halfway through autumn term. Remember that thing with the troll? When Quirrell let it in at Hallowe'en?'

Severus inclined his head. He remembered _perfectly_ , unfortunately for Potter… and the reminder nearly drove him into a rant again.

'Yeah, well, that was sort of our fault – Ron's and mine. We'd set off to find Hermione… because she'd been hiding – crying, because of something Ron accidentally said that she overheard. We just wanted to warn her about the troll, since she wasn't at the feast with everyone else. On the way though, we saw it – it went into a girls' loo… so we locked it in there. But then, of course, we realised…'

'That is _not_ how I recall the events, as you told them to your professors previously,' Severus interrupted silkily. He couldn't help it.

'Er – no,' Potter admitted with a look of chagrin. 'We… we didn't tell everything that time, I suppose. That's sort of where this goes.'

'Do go on,' Severus invited sarcastically.

Potter hesitated, frowning again. 'You can't take points for something that happened so long ago! Er – right, sir?'

Severus stared at him, deadpan. 'I make no such promise, Potter. But as to the events of your first term at Hogwarts… I think it unlikely I will see it as worth the hassle of pleading the case for retroactive action to the headmaster.'

'Er – right,' Potter said, though he still looked nervous. 'Anyway, you already know most of the rest… we saved her, and the troll got knocked out. You turned up with Quirrell and Minerva, and Hermione took the fall for us. She made out like it was all her fault… I suppose, in the end, we were all grateful to each other. And it sort of became the three of us after that – Hermione, Ron and I.'

'Touching,' Severus said in a bored voice. 'Now answer me this, Potter. _Why_ are you friends with Ms Granger?'

Potter's frown deepened. 'Why do you _care_ , sir?' he volleyed back.

Severus continued to stare without reply. Potter sighed.

'I don't know,' he said irritably. 'She's just… she's always there for me, alright? She understands me, and Ron. She helps with stuff. She talks through things… sometimes things you don't even really know you want to talk about. She does what's right – even when it means we're going to be in a lot of danger doing it. And she's really loyal, Hermione. Maybe even more than Ron sometimes. She never complains. She's just… I don't know. Why is anyone friends with anyone? Because Hermione has my back, always, and she's there when I need her to be. There isn't a cost to it. She doesn't ask for anything in return.'

'And why did you strike Mr Malfoy this afternoon?' Severus shot at him, before Potter had recovered from his musings.

'Because he was horrible to her!' Potter nearly shouted. 'He insulted her – right in front of the entire class. He made fun of her hair… He called her "Mudblood"! He _deserved_ to get socked for it. If you want me to say I'm sorry – I won't. She's my best friend.'

Severus nodded once. 'Interesting,' he said. He straightened in the chair. 'But, clearly, that is no longer the case.'

Potter bristled. 'What are you talking about?' he demanded heatedly.

'Well, you have not spoken to Ms Granger in weeks,' the professor pointed out. 'As Mr Malfoy so unwisely pointed out… the Golden Trio has become rather more a duo, of late. I fail to see how Ms Granger can summon so strong a reaction, in light of her current exile from your little clique.'

Potter glared. 'That's different, sir,' he insisted tersely. 'I can be angry with her for snitching on us and still not want Malfoy to be a prat. It doesn't mean I don't still want her to be my… that I don't…' he broke off, looking frustrated. 'Why do _you_ care anyway?' he challenged instead. 'What's it to you who I'm friends with, or whatever problems we have? Don't tell me you feel guilty because you were the reason –'

'Watch your tone when you speak to me, boy!' Severus snapped. 'Or I shall give you more detentions than you have days remaining at this school.'

Potter stopped speaking, but he continued to glare.

'Believe me,' Severus assured him with a return to his silky drawl, 'I have no wish to involve myself in the emotional affairs of ridiculous Gryffindor students.'

He paused – allowing the words to bring the child's face to boiling again.

'However,' he continued, 'I think it important to emphasise the foolishness of _your_ actions, Potter, whenever that particular talent of yours might surface. It is a necessary part of your education and therefore – most unfortunately for both of us – a sad trial of my own as your instructor. Particularly when the result of this folly is the uprising of emotions which seem to inhibit your ability to channel wandless magic.'

Potter was biting at his lip. More in temper, Severus suspected, than in nervousness.

'I did loads better this past week,' Potter countered. 'I got through all those –'

'You made mediocre progress,' Severus disagreed. 'Mediocre progress in a field of magic, Potter, that does not condone mediocrity. You will never master the art at this pace.'

'Remus says it takes a lot more time,' Potter muttered churlishly. 'He says not to push it, that it will –'

'The werewolf is _not_ your instructor!' Severus spat, his glare intensifying. 'And he would do well to keep his paws out of it. While it is true that you will not master wandless casting overnight, it is also true that you will _never_ master it at the pace you are currently working. Which leads us back, Potter, to your petty feud with Ms Granger.'

'You think in order to get better in lessons with you, I have to make up with Hermione?' Potter said sarcastically.

'No,' Severus disagreed. 'I think in order to improve in wandless magic, you must make a choice, Potter.'

Potter frowned again. 'What choice, sir?'

Severus stood, walking around the desk. He leaned against the edge of the wood, crossing his arms as he stared down intently at the boy.

'I think you must decide, Potter, whether she is a friend to you at all. And, if so, whether you are prepared to return that friendship.'

'Of course we –'

But Severus held up a hand for silence. 'Friendship, Potter, is both more durable and more tenuous than you seem to understand. _True_ friends are those who are able to point out what you need to hear, when you do not wish to hear it. Come to your aide when you do not wish for help. Stand by you, when the world turns its back… or when you turn on yourself. It is too easy, at your age, not to recognise the value of friends like that. But it is essential that you grasp this.'

His eyes bored into Potter's. The boys were wide and slightly frightened.

'The people we choose to surround ourselves with, Potter,' Severus said carefully, 'Will shape us more fully than any other factor in our lives. You must be careful who you confide in… careful who you choose for companions… because not only do you give those closest to you the power to destroy you utterly; you also place in them the power to shape your very being. To aide or destroy your destiny. No person who we sustain such closeness with leaves us without imprinting their mark upon us – no matter how that friendship ends.'

As he spoke, the literal embodiment on Severus' left forearm seemed to twinge – a ghostly reminder of the terrible truth in his words. He ignored the phantom pain.

'So in coming to a decision on this petty argument,' he continued, pulling himself back from the past, 'Choose with the knowledge that you will bear some responsibility in the choice. And with a true friend, Potter, it is a choice which must be made for a lifetime. You cannot afford to push away those who care for you… for one day you will try to pull them back, and they will not come.'

Severus pushed back off the desk, leaving Potter to think as he retrieved the pile of filthy cauldrons he intended to have the boy scrub out tonight. He dropped them on the desk with one final piece of advice.

'The best way to keep your friends, Potter, is not to give them away. And she will only _walk_ away should you push her out the door.'

He held out the brush and the all-purpose mess remover. Potter took them wordlessly, giving him a very odd look. Severus spun on his heel.

'So do work out if it's worth it for Ms Granger, won't you?' Severus growled, seating himself behind the desk again. 'Because I cannot suffer the mediocrity much longer.'

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Harry was so distracted by the odd conversation with Snape that he ran straight into Professor McGonagall in the corridor as he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower from his detention.

'Harry!' she said in exasperation, clutching at his shoulder to steady the both of them from the collision.

'Oh! Sorry, professor,' Harry said in apology as she straightened her bun.

'Is everything alright?' she asked, peering at him curiously. 'You were miles away.'

'Oh – er, yes. Just tired,' he hedged. He barely heard the inquiry – for his eyes were drawn to the broom clutched in her left hand. 'Is that…?' he started, looking hopefully up at her.

Minerva was beaming. 'It is,' she confirmed. 'You may have it back, Harry. The headmaster, myself, Professor Flitwick and Madam Hooch have all inspected it, but we were unable to find any untoward enchantments. It seems if Black _was_ the one who gifted you the broomstick, whatever efforts he might have attempted to jinx it were unsuccessful. Or, perhaps, some other benefactor has managed to circumvent Albus' fanmail charms somehow.'

'Albus' what?' Harry echoed, confused.

She cocked her head. 'You have not heard?' she asked in surprise. 'No… perhaps not. Albus placed a charm the day after your parents' deaths, to divert letters from admirers and… others, while you were still underage. You will have to ask him directly for the details – I am not sure exactly what parameters were involved in the spell… but I know one of the stipulations is that you should be unable to receive post from any individual you have never met before – excepting the school and official correspondence from the Ministry, of course.'

Harry frowned. 'Why would he set something like that?' he asked curiously.

Minerva rolled her eyes. 'You are the Boy Who Lived,' she reminded him, stroking his cheek fondly. 'I dare say you would receive more post than any other wizard alive. But, in any case, that is one reason we feared this gift must have come from Black. Unless someone has worked out a loophole, possible senders would be restricted to those you had interacted with before.'

'Er – right,' said Harry without really thinking on it. The broomstick was singing to him. 'Can I… May I have it back, then?' he asked, trying to keep the longing in his voice to a minimum.

She smiled in understanding, and held it out at last. Harry couldn't help a stifled whoop as he took it in his hands. Nor could he help running his fingers down its smooth surface… just to be sure.

'I assure you it remains in pristine condition,' Minerva said, with just a touch of complacency. 'And you'd better be sure to practise hard, if we are to beat Slytherin for the championship. I don't think I could stand the smugness on Severus' face…'

Harry grinned. 'We will,' he promised cockily.

She laughed and brushed a hand through his fringe. 'Off with you then!' she said, gesturing him toward the Tower entrance.

Harry, on impulse, gave her a brief embrace. Then he rushed for the portrait hole, and the two people he knew he had to speak with behind it.

'YES!' Ron whooped in delight as soon as Harry tumbled into the room clutching the new broomstick. He punched a triumphant fist in the air.

'You knew?' Harry asked as he straightened, considering Ron's strategic positioning.

He shrugged. 'McGonagall was in here before, looking for you,' he explained. 'Listen – can I come down to your training tomorrow? Have a go once you've finished?'

'Yeah, of course,' Harry agreed. He was still grinning at the broom's return, but his eyes roamed the common room in search of Hermione.

'Brilliant,' Ron said with a sigh. 'Listen – I'm going up to tell Fred and George. They're in the dorms working on some mad project… want to keep it a "surprise" for the afterparty…' he gave an exaggerated shudder.

'Yeah, alright,' Harry said distractedly. 'I'll just be…' he gestured vaguely toward the common room, where a few students still remained despite the late hour. Hermione was seated in a corner table, bent over another long sheaf of parchment. Her eyes were on the notes, but Harry could tell from her unmoving lashes and stiffened shoulders that she'd been listening to their exchange.

 _She will only walk away if you push her out the door_.

Ron bustled off up the stairs, and Harry sighed. Snape was right.

He made his way over to the table, fending off a few fervent admirers of his brilliant new broom as he went.

'Hey,' he said.

She looked up for just a moment, then back at the papers again. 'Hi,' she whispered back.

'Alright if I sit?'

She shrugged, but moved aside the books and scrolls on his side of the table. He sat himself in the chair opposite her.

'Minerva gave it back,' he added, setting the broom carefully on the table's surface to his left.

'Mmm, that's good.'

He sighed again. 'Hermione – look at me a moment.'

She raised her eyes, and Harry was ashamed to see they were tearful again.

'I was coming to talk to you tonight, even before I ran into her,' he told her earnestly. 'I… I'm sorry, for the past few weeks. Not talking to you – holding you responsible. I know you didn't mean to –'

'I didn't, Harry!' she interrupted pleadingly. 'I _didn't_ mean for you to get in trouble. I was just so worried and –'

'I know,' Harry assured her. 'Just let me finish, alright?'

He waited for her nod before he went on.

'Look, I was angry,' he said bluntly. 'I was angry, and I blamed that on you… but it wasn't _really_ you I was cross with. It was me.'

Hermione looked bursting to say something again, but she held her tongue.

'You're always there, Hermione,' said Harry with a sad smile. 'Always. Even when I don't really deserve it. Even when I'm being an utter prat. And I shouldn't get to hold that over you… I've been taking advantage – just like I did with that House-elf. I've been stewing, working myself up to forgive _you_ … when really it's me who needs _your_ forgiveness, this time. You didn't do anything wrong; in fact, you were probably right. I just didn't want to see it at the time. Still don't, really,' he admitted with the ghost of a grin. She gave a tentative, watery smile in return.

'Anyway,' he continued. 'I'm sorry I made out like it was all your problem. You're my best friend, Hermione – much as Ron is. And I can't do this… can't be me, without you. So, I hope you can forgive me.'

'Oh Harry, of course I do!' she blubbered, reaching across the table to grasp his hand. 'And I'm sorry too… for the way things worked out that day. I never imagined it'd be Snape who came out to stop you.'

He brushed off the apology, feeling his face glowing with embarrassment from the conversation. But he squeezed her hand gently.

'So, working on Defence?' he asked, clearing his throat as he pulled one of her books toward himself. 'I started on this one last night. We could finish it together?' he suggested. She grinned at the peace offering, clearing him some more space, and Harry pulled his half-written scroll from his bag.

'It was nice of you to stick up for me with Malfoy,' she said as he rummaged for a quill. 'Though I am sorry it got you detention.'

Harry emerged with the eagle feather. He shrugged. 'I'm not,' he confessed. 'I should thank Malfoy, really. If I hadn't got locked up with Snape for two hours tonight, I might not have come to my senses.'

Hermione looked up curiously. 'What do you –'

But she was interrupted, as a furious bellow rang out from the staircase. Harry and Hermione both jumped, and the room fell silent in trepidation as someone came tromping down from the boy's dormitory. A moment later, Ron was charging across the common room, his face burning in rage and his clenched fist dragging the bedsheet from his four-poster.

'Ron?' Harry asked in shock. 'What are you –'

'LOOK!' he bellowed, ignoring Harry and shaking the fist with the sheet inches from Hermione's nose, nearly striking her. 'LOOK!'

'Mate!' Harry protested. He jumped up and dragged Ron a foot or so back from the bewildered Hermione, saving her the possibility of a blackened eye. Ron shrugged him off with a snarl.

'Ron?' Hermione asked, her voice breaking as she leaned back from his fury. 'What's the ma-'

'THAT BLOODY DEMON CAT, THAT'S WHAT!' Ron shouted back. His hand shook the bedsheet harder. 'SCABBERS! LOOK AT THE SHEET, HERMIONE!'

Harry and Hermione both looked. Though it was hard to discern at first, with Ron's hand was brandishing the sheet in a way that reminded Harry strongly and unpleasantly of Uncle Vernon, Harry thought he could make out several spots on the white fabric. Ominous, scarlet blotches.

'BLOOD!' Ron confirmed in a shriek. Everyone in the common room was staring at him. Nobody moved.

'BLOOD!' Ron repeated. 'AND SCABBERS HAS GONE – _THESE_ ARE ALL I FOUND, HERMIONE!'

He chucked the contents of his other hand onto the open Defence book. Harry saw several long, distinctively ginger cat hairs.

'Ron,' Harry said, pushing Ron toward a chair as Hermione put a hand to her mouth, 'Mate, we've no way of knowing it was Crookshanks. Those might have been there from –'

Ron recoiled, looking disgusted. 'Harry, you _can't_ be serious!' he shouted. 'Of _course_ it was that damn cat! How many times have I said, Hermione?' he demanded, whirling to face her again. 'HOW MANY BLOODY TIMES? AND DID YOU _EVER_ LISTEN?'

'Stop it,' Harry said firmly. He yanked Ron down into the chair. 'Everyone's staring, you prat.'

'Ron, I'm so –' Hermione started.

'I don't want to hear it!' Ron snarled, though he'd thankfully stopped shouting now. 'I _don't_ , Hermione. You never took me seriously, did you? Never bothered to keep an eye out. That cat's a menace!'

There were tears falling down Hermione's cheeks again. 'Ron, he might… might just be hiding, or –' she tried to say, but she broke off at the glower Ron levelled at her.

Harry shook his head once in her direction too, warning her off this line. He tried to keep his expression sympathetic. He _wanted_ them all to be friends again… wanted to go back to the way things normally were. But he also, privately, thought Ron was probably right about Crookshanks' culpability… whatever he'd said to calm him down. And he knew Hermione would only make it worse if she defended her cat.

The rest of the remaining students in the common room, at least, had been distracted. Neville and Seamus had just climbed through the portrait hole, Neville moaning about losing a list of passwords he'd convinced the mad Sir Cadogan to give him in advance. Several fifth year girls had popped up from their sofa to help him search the room.

Ron put his head in his hands.

'He was my pet,' he said gloomily. And Harry wondered if his rage was giving way to tears as well. 'He was fat, and lazy, and basically next to useless… but he was _mine_ , Hermione.'

'I know,' Hermione moaned. She was shaking. 'I know, Ron. And if it _was_ Crookshanks, I really am so sorry! I didn't think he –'

'I'm going to bed,' Ron said, not looking at her.

He got up from the chair again, and bent to pull the sheet off the floor. He left for the dormitory staircase without another word.

And Harry, watching him go and listening to Hermione's quiet tears, wondered if they really ever could reach 'normal' again.

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 32:**

 **SpringRoll** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you liked the Lily and Severus moment… although, of course, you're right – it was a little bit heart-breaking in a chapter I promised would be lighter. Might have forgotten I'd slipped that in…

Severus at the piano! It just feels like him, I thought. All complicated and capable of anything, really… from soft to harsh; sharp or flat; both black and white.

Oh, Severus is _livid_ with Harry at the moment. Absolutely ready to kill. And you are right – Albus and Minerva would not have acted quite the same had they been the ones to run onto that pitch. Or, at least, Albus would not have… Minerva – well, she'd have used softer words, at any rate. Poor Hermione… she's in for a rough go of it this round. But she is that true friend that everyone needs – the one who is willing to both be there through anything, and also go for help when we are too far gone to realise we need it, even when she knows it will push her friend away.

I hope you are right on the children's arrival… though I promise I will do my best to keep posting regularly. In the meantime, I'm happy you're finding the chapters a welcome respite from the day, and I do hope you enjoy the next instalment!

 **AlsoKnownAsMatt** : Thanks for your review! Very happy you liked the chapter – and I'm glad it felt original. Initially, I had actually planned on Minerva catching Harry on the pitch, but the situation felt much more Snape, somehow. And I thought it might make an interesting change. Harry… yes, he is growing up some. I loved more innocent Harry, of course, but to me he gets more interesting and complex as a character as he grows a little. And he is a teenager…. So I am sure they'll be plenty of mistakes and poor judgments (I know I made plenty myself at that age!). I hope you continue to like them as they unfold. Thank you for the well wishes – alas, I too suspect twins will pose a challenge… certainly, if they are like me; but even more so if they turn out like their father.

I hope you like Chapter 33!

 **AECM** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you liked that chapter, and am trying to post as quickly as possible. I think you will get something close to what you've asked for in the next chapter, although the players are not quite the same. I hope you enjoy Chapter 33!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for your review! Haha, I promise I'll try to go easy on you. And I will give you this one, cryptic shred of hope – you should remember that nothing is necessarily what it seems. Glad you liked the chapter – finally moving forward from that one, very emotional day (thank Merlin, because my nerves are shot!). This next update will be nearly as quick, I expect… I am about halfway through as I write this response… so hopefully that will be well-received. Enjoy Chapter 33!

 **Mwinter1** : Thanks for reviewing! Hope you like chapter 33!


	34. Padfoot and Prongs

**A/N:** Back again! I know it's been over a fortnight, and I do apologise… these last few weeks of pregnancy are super exhausting, and I haven't been up to as much writing as usual. In any case, I hope to get at least one more up before the little ones arrive.

Enjoy 'Padfoot and Prongs,' and **please read and review**!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **Chapter 34: Padfoot and Prongs**

Sirius was crouched at the edge of the forest again, watching the cat's bottlebrush tail bob away into the darkness. He nosed the precious slip of parchment on the ground: the list of words displayed in a cramped, spastic hand…

This was it – the key inside. Past that wretched portrait. All he needed now was the right opening; the perfect night.

And he could do it, at last.

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It was a difficult start to February. Though Harry and Hermione were on good terms again, Ron's anger with Hermione was not as quick to fade. Harry tried to talk him round. He tried to repeat the things Snape had told him… though he wasn't sure he remembered them all right and he couldn't tell Ron that _Snape_ had been the one to say them. Ron seemed to understand, perhaps, about the Firebolt. But he was still sore on Scabbers, and Harry could not offer much in the way of comfort.

For it did appear, truly, that Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers. Even Hermione – who was still desperately asking random students to search under their beds – seemed resigned to the likelihood. She'd tried to shut the cat up in her room to keep him from Ron's wrath, but Crookshanks always seemed to find a way out again. The cat's continued untethered wanderings, meanwhile, only made Ron's moodiness worse. He had even got snippy with Harry, who he seemed to feel ought to have taken a similar stance of outrage toward both Hermione and the cat in solidarity.

Desperate for something to drag his friend from his sullenness (and hoping to avoid further temper aimed at himself), Harry reminded Ron about Gryffindor Quidditch practice the following Friday. It was the last scheduled training session before their match against Ravenclaw the next day, and Harry promised Ron the latter could test out the Firebolt's capabilities for himself after the practice. Ron brightened at the suggestion, and Madam Hooch (who had already delayed the start of drills for nearly half an hour with her appraisal of the broomstick) graciously agreed to stay out an extra fifteen minutes with them so Ron could take a couple of shots with the Quaffle.

The red-head left the pitch in an excited haze, jabbering on about the Firebolt's qualities as he and Harry made their way back up to the castle a bit behind Hooch's brisk walk. Harry was in a very good temper too. The practice had been brilliant. He didn't see how they _could_ lose tomorrow, if they flew like that in the match. Not unless…

'– and no vibration at all with sudden swerves! I mean, even the Nimbus…. Harry?' Ron paused in his enthusiasm, realising Harry was no longer walking.

Harry wasn't listening. His heart was thumping a rapid beat against his ribcage. He squinted out into the darkened grounds, looking for the movement again. It couldn't be… not tonight…

'What is it, mate?' Ron asked warily. His fingers closed over Harry's forearm.

'I've just seen –' Harry began in a low hiss… but he stopped. The movement came again and Harry backed automatically toward Ron, drawing his wand. ' _Lumos_!' he whispered.

The beam of light illuminated the grass. A crouching figure was silhouetted against the trunk of the Whomping Willow. It was not the Grim.

'That bloody cat!' Ron swore. He reached down for a stone at his feet. 'She's _still_ giving it free reign!'

'Ron, don't –' Harry said, reaching for his arm to stop him throwing the stone. Ron dodged, but it did not matter. Crookshanks vanished in a sweep of his bottlebrush tail.

'You should've let me –'

'Potter! Weasley! Why are you dawdling?'

Both boys jumped. Harry had almost forgotten about Madam Hooch. She was striding back toward them, hands on her hips as she glared.

'Sorry – we're coming, ma'am,' Harry said quickly.

He released Ron's arm, and they hurried back to the castle under Madam Hooch's chastisement.

Harry did not sleep well that night. He didn't have nightmares, exactly – not like the sort of gut-wrenching night terrors he'd been so often plagued with – but his dreams were peculiar.

 _He was in Magnolia Crescent again… Snape was throwing Harry behind him, snarling at him to take his arm… the dark, hulking dog was growling, stalking toward them…_

 _He was flying…. Chasing the Snitch, Cedric Diggory peeling toward him… the dog was alone in a high row of the stands, its grey eyes glinting as they fixed on Harry… and he was falling… down to the Dementors on the pitch below…_

 _He was tugging Valerian root from the earth, in a meadow deep in the forest… and the grey eyes were watching him…_

 _He was standing on a crimson hearthrug, much closer to his face than he would have thought possible… there was giant furniture all around him: a sofa, an armchair, a table that was taller than he was… He peered beneath it, where dark fur was visible… grey eyes were shining. He laughed, and snatched for it._

 _The fur moved. The Grim crawled out, making a run for it around the table's edge. Harry followed on unsteady legs… nearly tripping as he threw himself toward the animal. He embraced it, burying his face in the long, dark fur…_

'Harry!'

Harry's eyes snapped open. His heart was pounding slightly again.

'You alright?' Ron asked, eying him weirdly as Harry pushed himself up against the bedframe.

'I… yeah,' Harry mumbled. He scrubbed at his face.

'Nightmare?' Ron asked, looking more apprehensive still.

Harry shook his head. 'Not really, just a strange… What time is it?' he asked suddenly, noting the bright sky outside. He felt as if he'd only just shut his eyes, but the sun was already well up.

'Nearly nine,' Ron confirmed. 'Wood's going a bit mental – rest of the team's gone down to the Hall already.'

'Bullocks,' Harry muttered. He jumped out of bed quickly, diving for his trunk to rummage for his Quidditch robes. Ron was sitting on the edge of his own four-poster, watching Harry with a frown as the latter emerged with a wadded heap of scarlet.

'You sure you're alright?' he asked, as Harry yanked on his boots.

Harry frowned, fumbling with the laces. 'Yeah,' he said gruffly. 'Just can't believe I've overslept. Hermione go down already?'

'How would I know?' Ron snarled. He pulled his pillow from its place, pummelling it almost absentmindedly.

'Look,' Harry said, straightening up with his Firebolt in hand. 'Can't you two just –'

' _No_ ,' Ron cut across him angrily. 'And I wish you'd just give it up, Harry.'

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but he stopped himself before the words left him. He sighed. It was too early… his reasoning hadn't caught up to him yet. And besides, they had Quidditch to worry about this morning.

'Fine,' he said curtly instead. 'Let's just… we'd better eat.'

The Great Hall seemed to have been waiting for them. Harry's teammates and form mates all rushed him at the door, walking him, Ron and the Firebolt toward the Gryffindor table as though they were escorting a pop star. Heads turned from every direction, whispers broke out at every table, and several students stood on their benches to get an aerial view of the broomstick. Harry felt a little embarrassed by all the attention. He caught a glimpse of the high table as they finally took their own seats. Dumbledore was smiling softly. McGonagall – decked out in the House colours with her magical megaphone on the table beside her – was glowing with pride and excitement. Snape, on Dumbledore's left side, fixed Harry with a steely glare.

An hour later, and Harry felt as worn out as though he'd already played the match. He nearly hugged Ginny Weasley when she finally asked Wood, in a tiny voice, whether the team ought not to be getting down to the pitch, as the hour was coming on eleven. He'd had four dozen admirers come over to evaluate the broom and wring his hand – from curious first year Gryffindors to Cedric Diggory and his Hufflepuff teammates. Even Malfoy and his cronies sauntered over for a peek, and Harry was thrilled to see the trepidation on Malfoy's face as he glowered down at the broomstick.

Wood, who had been thoroughly enjoying the reflected glory of Harry's new Firebolt, leapt up so quickly at Ginny's prompting that Harry thought he might have been electrified.

'Galloping gargoyles – I won't have time for a pep talk at this rate!' he cried in alarm, shooting a devastated glance at his wristwatch.

Fred and George gave an exaggerated high-five as the rest of the team stood, and all seven players made their way out of the Hall.

'You've got that Dementor problem sorted?' Wood asked Harry in an undertone as the team reached the locker rooms.

Harry swallowed nervously, feeling the weight of his wand where he'd strapped it to his forearm in Remus' runic holster. He really hoped he wouldn't need it. At least Remus would be in the stands, this time…

'Er – yes,' he said, trying to sound convincing. 'It'll be fine.'

'Good,' the captain said brusquely. 'Because we can't afford –'

'Oliver, the Dementors aren't going to show again,' George put in, emerging tousle-haired from his scarlet robes.

'Yeah, Dumbledore'd blow up Azkaban,' Fred said seriously as he chucked a pair of gloves at his twin.

George sniggered, pulling them on. 'Or throw Fudge in for a nice stay,' he opined.

'At Azkaban?' Fred scoffed. 'Nah. It'd be Nurmengard, if Dumbledore's got his say.'

'Nurmengard?' Harry repeated, frowning.

Fred and George rolled their eyes in unison. 'Nurmengard, Harry,' Fred repeated. 'You know – where Dumbledore chucked –'

'Five-minute warning!' A curt voice called from the pitch-side of the door.

Wood, who'd been watching the interlude with a bemused expression, jumped violently again.

'Enough chat!' he said in panic. 'I'll fetch the girls – got to make this quick.'

Wood gave them his abbreviated pep talk, and the Gryffindor team marched onto the pitch to tumultuous applause. The Ravenclaws were there already, dressed in deep blue and led by a handsome sixth year boy Harry recognised as Roger Davies. Harry considered the lot nervously. He hadn't played Ravenclaw yet at Hogwarts… they had been the opponent in the match he'd missed first year, when he had been unconscious in hospital wing. And last spring, McGonagall had cancelled the match. As Davies moved forward to shake hands with Wood, Harry caught sight of the Seeker: Cho Chang – the only girl on the Ravenclaw team.

She was small and delicate looking, with long, straight hair of a black so deep it had an almost violet sheen in the sunlight. She held her broom confidently in a textbook grip that would have done Madam Hooch proud. As Harry watched the breeze ruffle her hair, she looked up at him. He flushed at once to be caught in his staring. She gave him a small smile that set her dark eyes dancing. Harry couldn't help but notice she was very, _very_ pretty.

'Mount your broom, Romeo,' a voice hissed at his ear.

Harry started a bit, shaken from his contemplation of the opposing players. The rest of the players were all staring at him now: unmoving with his broom hanging limply at his side. He felt his face burn as he hurriedly scrambled onto the Firebolt. Angelina straightened, shaking her head and laughing slightly as she swung a leg back over her own.

 _Great, now he looked like a prize idiot. And he'd delayed the start of the match…_

The match. _The Match!_

She didn't matter… he had to _beat_ her. Gryffindor would lose the Cup if he didn't.

Harry pushed thoughts of Cho Chang out of his head, as Madam Hooch's whistle urged them all up into the air.

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By Merlin, but he was brilliant.

Sirius had always loved Quidditch. Even now, vicariously, he felt a rush of pure joy – the high he remembered living so many times after his own triumphant matches as a student. That heady sense of invincibility, that decades ago would have had him strutting shoulder-to-shoulder back to the castle with James, punching the air and batting off admirers… wagging his eyebrows suggestively at Emma Smethley or Cassidy Biles, or whoever he'd been fancying that week. The blissful adrenaline that would have bled into an all-night party, until Minerva finally barged in to shut them down at half two…

It was even better, somehow, watching Harry instead. He flew remarkably – like he'd been born to seat a broom. The Firebolt was all Sirius had hoped it would be, but it was his godson who astounded. Sirius thought, watching the match today, he might even turn out better than his father. And James could have had his pick in the British league.

He had chosen a place under the stands today. It wasn't as conducive to a view as the empty row of seats he'd managed to perch himself in for the first match… but he could tell that Harry had been startled, when he'd seen him there that day. And it had been much more difficult to make his escape, when Dementors poured onto the pitch from every angle. In any case, the sky today was clear and bright, and he could see just fine through the gap beneath the stands. He'd been watching Harry practise from here too… and he hadn't yet been caught.

He chuckled to himself as the Gryffindor captain bellowed at his Seeker high above, angry that Harry seemed unwilling to unseat his pretty little opponent.

The commentator wasn't much help with the match, far too focused on the Firebolt's addition… but the day was clear enough to catch the action even without the megaphone's assistance. Sirius felt another pang of familiar longing, listening to McGonagall's attempts to curtail the commentary.

He watched as Gryffindor put away goal after goal, bringing the scarlet-clad players into a healthy lead. High above, the Ravenclaw Seeker seemed to be tailing Harry, who Sirius could tell was growing frustrated with the mimicry. He gave a silent cheer as the boy easily dodged a bludger, then held his breath as Harry went careening for the ground.

The crowd roared its approval and its upset in equal measure, thinking Harry had seen the Snitch below. The Ravenclaw girl hurried to follow… but Sirius saw no sign of gold among the grass…

As he'd expected, Harry straightened from the dive a few feet from the ground, shooting upward just as quickly. The girl – less skilled and on a slower mount – took longer to recover. In a flash, Harry was moving again; this time toward the far end of the pitch and the Ravenclaw posts. She rushed to copy him, gliding forward and upward… but she was so far behind… The crowd was roaring again, urging both their players onward…

And three dark shapes appeared, moving onto the pitch from between the stands. Sirius let out a growl that nobody could hear, torn between the base instinct to run and his desire to watch Harry to victory and safety.

 _It couldn't be…. Not again… Not when he was so close…_

The crowd's enthusiasm was mixing with horror now. The Ravenclaw Seeker gave a squeal…

But fifty feet above, Harry's concentration barely wavered. His flicked his right hand – already outstretched for the Snitch – and his wand appeared from his sleeve.

 _'Expecto Patronum!'_ the boy bellowed, brandishing the wand with model precision toward the figures below.

The eruption from the crowd moments later told Sirius the match had ended; that his godson had captured the winged Snitch. But Sirius missed the catch entirely.

His gaze… his heart… all his attention was focused on the enormous silver-white figure that had burst from Harry's wand, charging down the Dementors like an avenging angel. He realised just as quickly that they _weren't_ Dementors, as four students tumbled out of the long black cloaks in fright at the attack, the smallest falling from the shoulders of a friend. He was startled by the power behind the spell – a difficult feat for any wizard, let alone a child of thirteen. And this was no ordinary patronus… No, even among corporeal patronuses this creature was one of the largest and brightest Sirius had ever seen. But it was not even this, really, that made him feel as though he could not breathe beneath the stands.

It was the utter familiarity of the stag. But for the fact he'd _seen_ Harry cast the spell himself… he would have thought James had returned to him.

For it was Prongs, to the letter. Great antlers set high upon a proud head… tufted chest and strong flanks. The stag bounded once around the stunned students and stopped, lifting its face to look at the crowd. And – for just the swiftest of moments – Sirius could have sworn the ghostly beast stared right at him.

But then it was gone, dissolving into shimmering mist.

The students were moving; cheering and shouting the results of the match… flooding the pitch below…

Harry was landing among a sea of scarlet, his wand and the Snitch both clutched high in a triumphant fist…

And Sirius crept backward out of the stands… heading for the shelter of the trees again.

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'Well, it seems congratulations are in order all around, today,' Albus said quietly at Remus' ear. The Defence professor – who'd been watching over the edge of the box with wide eyes – jumped at the address.

'Pardon, headmaster?' he asked in a slightly shaking voice.

Albus smiled. 'That was quite an achievement,' he clarified. He nodded his head toward the pitch, where Harry was surrounded by a growing group of teammates and friends. 'You have kept it under your hat, my boy. I had no idea Harry had managed the spell already. Well done.'

'He hadn't,' Remus whispered back in a rough murmur. 'Not until… I'd never seen it in its true form. Never, before today.'

Albus considered him. Remus' eyes were tearing. His gaze remained on the grass, though the stag had long since dissipated. Even over the tumult of student voices, Albus could hear Minerva's ringing chastisement of the Slytherin would-be saboteurs echoing up the stands.

'He really is so like him,' Remus said softly as Harry shook hands with the Ravenclaw captain. 'I suppose I should not be surprised…'

'He is, and he is not,' Albus opined. 'But the patronus channels that which protects us: our guardian. For some, it is a manifestation of a part of ourselves. For others, the fortification is drawn from elsewhere. Lily's protection lives in Harry's very being… I find it quite natural that James' should show itself as well, in its own way. And of course, they were a perfect match; the doe and the stag.'

'It looked just like him,' Remus whispered. His hand brushed gently through the air, as if to catch a piece of the vanished silver light.

'Just like _his_ ,' Albus corrected.

Remus started again, turning to glance at the headmaster with an expression as though he'd only just realised he was there.

'Yes, precisely,' he agreed, his voice much more its usual tone. 'I might go down and see…'

Albus nodded. 'I shall be just behind you,' he promised as they gathered their cloaks. 'I fear I shall need to intercede with Minerva…'

He watched Remus depart, frowning slightly. His own descent to the pitch was much slower. When he reached the grass, it was to find the professor with a hand on Harry's shoulder, guiding him away from the crowd toward the corner where Minerva was still in high temper. Harry was beaming. Albus, catching his eye, gave a small wink.

'– low and unworthy trick!' Minerva shouted furiously. 'Detention for every one of you – and fifty points apiece from Slytherin! When I speak to Professor Dumbledore – ah, here he is now!'

She was standing over four crumpled figures on the ground: Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle and Marcus Flint. The four boys stopped their struggle to disentangle themselves from the long, hooded robes they'd donned as the headmaster approached, all of them paling slightly. Albus kept his own face quite expressionless, but he knew they would feel his disapproval regardless. He flicked his wand once at the pile of limbs and faces. Draco Malfoy visibly flinched, but the headmaster's spell merely vanished the black cloaks.

'I think this conversation would be better suited to my office. What say you, Minerva?' he asked pleasantly.

The Transfiguration professor's mouth set in a grim smile. 'Oh, most assuredly, headmaster. Shall I escort them now?'

'If you would,' Albus agreed. 'I shall see if I can manage to locate Severus in all this celebration, and meet you there forthwith.'

She nodded primly, glowering while the boys got to their feet. Albus watched them off the pitch before turning to Harry. The boy was standing with Ron Weasley, both of them barely containing their laughter. Ron coloured as Albus approached them, and hurried off after the other Gryffindor players with a muttered word to his friend.

'A particularly fine capture,' Albus said with a smile. 'Your best yet, perhaps.'

Harry grinned back. 'I did it!' he burst out. 'I've never done it before – not a real one, like now. Of course…' his grin faltered slightly. 'They weren't _real_ Dementors, so…'

'No,' Albus agreed, his own annoyance twinging again. 'They were not. But that does not negate the enormity of what you have accomplished, Harry. I am very proud of you.'

Harry flushed, eying the grass. 'Thanks,' he said gruffly.

'Tell me, what thoughts did you choose to focus the spell?' Albus asked in interest.

Harry looked up, brow furrowed. 'I'm… I don't really know,' he admitted. 'Everything was happening so quickly, and I was so focused on the match… I suppose I was happy already – I always am in the air. But mostly I was just determined not to fall again.'

Albus nodded. 'As seems to be your custom,' he teased, 'You show extraordinary ability under great pressure.

'Ron said it was a stag,' Harry said thoughtfully. 'I didn't really see… I was too busy trying to catch the Snitch. I'm a bit surprised, though. I wouldn't have thought…'

'I, on the other hand, was not surprised at all,' Albus said with twinkling eyes. 'But then… I have seen that patronus many times before, though it has been many years.'

Harry cocked his head in confusion. 'But… I thought patronuses were unique to the caster?'

Albus' smile grew. 'And so they are, Harry,' he agreed. 'And so they are.'

He gave the boy one last enigmatic smile, squeezed his shoulder, and headed off in search of his Potions Master.

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'Severus.'

Severus stopped with a sinking feeling, turning slowly to face the headmaster. He had hoped to make his escape without notice.

'Albus,' he replied, giving a short inclination of his head. 'Regards, another Gryffindor victory,' he said sarcastically.

Albus did not smile. 'Minerva has escorted your young charges up to my study already. I thought you might like to accompany me.'

Severus scowled. ' _Your_ office, headmaster?' he repeated. 'Surely Minerva could handle this without your interceding.'

Albus frowned. 'Undoubtedly,' he agreed. 'And yet, their offence was quite a serious one, Severus. I should like to make my views on the matter unequivocally clear.'

'The brat is fine,' Severus pointed out tersely. 'And his team victorious. Just like his father before him, in more ways than even I would have thought.'

'Do not push me, Severus,' Albus warned. 'That Harry showed such talent today does not excuse the actions of your students.'

The professor swallowed down bile. He _was_ angry, particularly after his own sharp words with Malfoy only the week before. But he detested when Albus – or Minerva, for that matter – interfered with discipline in his own House. And Potter had _not_ been harmed, in the end…

'After all,' the headmaster added in a lower voice, 'Has it not been you, Severus, who has advocated all year that pranks which carry potentially lethal consequence must be treated as such?'

Severus snarled in reply. 'Do _not_ ,' he spat, 'Compare what Black, Potter and Lupin pulled all those years ago to this childish nonsense over a flying ball. Potter would _not_ have fallen, no matter his fanciful spellwork… children in black cloaks could not possibly mimic the Dementors' effects. And you know it.'

'Perhaps,' Albus allowed, still frowning. 'Perhaps not – if they had succeeded in tricking Harry into a panic. And that is a crucial difference, Severus… whatever Black's purposes, James Potter had no intention of allowing you to face your death that day. I ask you – do you believe that your students' aims today were quite so honourable?'

Severus gave an indistinct noise in the back of his throat.

'Fine,' he ground out.

Albus swept for the doors at once, and Severus followed reluctantly. When they'd made it to the circular office, it was to find Minerva standing behind the headmaster's desk and all four of the miscreants seated before it. Crabbe and Goyle – on either end – looked vaguely sullen. Flint was eying Albus and Severus' approach warily. Draco, on the other hand, held his head high, scowling at everyone in the room.

Severus flicked his wand at the door behind him. It slammed hard, causing all four of the boys to jump. He kept his face expressionless as he followed in Albus' wake, taking the side opposite Minerva while the headmaster settled into his highbacked chair.

'I wish to impress upon all four of you the seriousness of what you attempted today,' Albus began. He was using that indefinable force again – letting the weight of his displeasure settle over the room like a chill. None of the four recipients dared to meet his eyes. 'Had your deception been successful, a student could have been grievously injured, perhaps worse.'

' _You_ were there,' Draco pointed out insolently. 'Just like the last match. It wasn't as if Potter would have –'

'Hold your tongue, Draco!' Severus snarled.

Draco gave him a filthy glare, but he snapped his mouth shut obediently.

'And if I had stepped out, Mr Malfoy?' the headmaster asked politely. 'If neither I nor another professor had been able to get a clear aim at Harry's broom, or if he'd been hit by another player in the fall? Would you have been able to have that on your conscience; the blood of another on your soul?'

None of the boys replied, looking highly uncomfortable. Even Draco squirmed.

'It was a prank,' Marcus Flint mumbled to the polished desktop. 'We weren't looking to _kill_ him, sir, or – or even hurt him. We just wanted Wood to kick him off before the next match. Take them out of the running for the Cup.'

Minerva made a noise like an angry tigress, but Albus held up a hand.

' _Was_ that your intent?' he asked quietly. His gaze focused on Flint first, but moved slowly to take in the other young faces too. The students were all determinedly staring at their knees.

The headmaster sighed. 'Murder is not so easy as the innocent believe,' he opined softly. 'Nor, sadly, can we control the repercussions of malicious or reckless acts, even when we do not wish to cause bodily harm. I trust you will remember this, in future. For nothing cuts so deeply into the psyche as bitter remorse for that which we cannot take back.'

Albus waited for all four to give their muttered assent, then turned to Severus. 'Severus, I understand Minerva has already issued punishments. Should you like to add anything…'

'No, headmaster,' said Severus smoothly. 'I shall return my students to their common room, if they are through here.'

Albus nodded in assent, and Severus jerked his head for the four boys to precede him to the door. Wisely recognising his ire, none spoke as he marched them down the many flights of stairs, straight to the dormitory entrance.

'In,' he said shortly, jerking his head at the stone wall. 'Not you, Draco,' he added. He shot out a hand to stop the smallest from passing, glaring until Crabbe followed the others inside. He took Draco firmly by the upper arm, half-leading, half-dragging him down the corridor and through into an empty dungeon classroom.

'Get off!' Draco complained, yanking his arm free as Severus snapped the door behind them. 'What the –'

'Silence,' Severus commanded. He waved a hand impatiently at the wall behind him, setting the torch flames alight. Draco gulped.

'What did I tell you,' he asked silkily, 'About messing about with Potter?'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'We weren't _in_ your classroom,' he pointed out. ' _Or_ in the dungeons _outside_ the classroom, or anything. The pitch is –'

'You were in front of the entire school, Potter's Head of House _and_ the headmaster of this school, Draco,' Severus retorted scathingly. 'You are either supremely arrogant, or supremely foolish. I am not sure which I would prefer. Either, I might add, is equally likely to get you killed.'

'I'm not _either_ ,' Draco insisted stubbornly.

'Oh, but you are,' Severus sneered. 'Because either you did not think yourselves likely to get caught – believing you could outwit every teacher in this castle… or you did not think you would be punished for your actions. And knowing Albus Dumbledore's regard for Potter; knowing my _explicit_ instruction Friday last… I would have thought the flaw in the latter would have been obvious even to Gregory Goyle. That _you_ could overlook this, Draco, is a severe disappointment.'

The boy coloured. 'He _didn't_ get hurt,' he repeated in a mumble.

'Immaterial,' Severus spat. 'You should thank Merlin you did _not_ cause him injury with your feeble attempt, or I promise you tonight would be your last at this castle – no matter your father's influence in London.'

'Dumbledore wouldn't _expel_ me,' Draco scoffed. 'Even for Potter. He's too soft! Father says Hogwarts hasn't expelled a student in almost –'

'Do not let benevolent airs fool you, boy,' Severus interrupted in a growl. ' _You_ are too young to remember… but Lucius is most certainly not. And your father did not come out the better, when last _he_ faced off with the headmaster. Albus Dumbledore is not a wizard to be trifled with, Draco. He makes as powerful an enemy as he does an ally. And if you continue to bait Harry Potter under his nose, you will find out precisely why.'

He opened the door to the room.

'Think with _logic_ , Draco. Not with petulance. I will not give such warning again.'

And, leaving Draco staring after him from the doorframe, he swept away down the corridor.

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It was a raucous night in Gryffindor Tower. Harry had wandered back up to the castle with the stragglers from the pitch, still pondering Albus' odd words at the end of their interaction. But any thoughts of an evening spent in quiet contemplation were immediately dashed as he reached the portrait hole. Hands pulled him through before the portrait had entirely opened – clapping him on the back, shoving sweets and crisps into his arms, dragging him around to the rest of the team by the fire. For the entire afternoon and well past nightfall, the House celebrated and sang, toasted and ate. Fred and George Weasley slipped off after supper for a couple of hours, returning with a suspiciously small bag into which dozens of butterbeers, Honeydukes sweets and several parcels with Zonko's wrappings had managed to squeeze.

'Where'd you get all this?' Alicia Spinnet asked in wonder, taking a bottle of butterbeer from Fred with a distrustful raised eyebrow.

'Magic,' Fred quipped back with a dazzling smile. He leaned over to pop the cork for her.

George gave Harry a significant wink as he swiped a Fizzing Whizbee from the air. He shook his head, smirking.

'Harry.'

Harry turned round to find Hermione at his elbow, looking both impressed and slightly tearful. On instinct, he glanced toward Ron on the other side of the room. Ron was engaged in excited recap of the match with Neville and Dean, but his ears were tell-tale scarlet.

'You've had another row?' Harry asked, annoyed.

'Not a row, precisely,' Hermione disagreed. She twisted her fingers nervously. 'I just wanted to _talk_ to him…'

'I know,' Harry cut in quickly. 'I'm sorry – it's not your fault. I'm just sick of being in the middle, you know?'

'Yes,' Hermione agreed quietly. 'Anyway, Harry, you played brilliantly today.' She smiled. 'And that patronus…'

'Yeah,' Harry said, 'Thanks.' He was still in slight shock. 'I dunno if I'll be able to manage it again, but –'

'You will,' Hermione assured him. She led them a bit away from the crowd, toward a corner table. Harry saw she'd spread it over already with assignments.

'It's always like that with magic, isn't it? Once you've managed to get it right once, you never really forget that feeling.'

'I… suppose,' said Harry uncertainly. 'I don't reckon it will be quite so easy with a real Dementor there though.'

'That was a nasty trick Malfoy played,' she hissed.

Harry chuckled in spite of himself. 'Yeah, well, Albus took all of them up to his office with Snape and Minerva. I can't imagine they're too chuffed about it now.'

'It's not funny!' Hermione spat, frowning as Harry continued to grin. 'They might have done you a serious injury, Harry. You could have –'

'I wasn't though, Hermione,' Harry said, sobering again. 'I mean, I'm not _glad_ they did it, or anything… but it's nice to know I can do the spell at all, even if they weren't actually Dementors. Maybe this _will_ be the breakthrough… maybe I can do it against the boggart at least, now I've managed this much.'

'What does Remus say?'

'Nothing, yet,' Harry said. He frowned himself now, thinking back on Remus' reaction at the pitch. 'He was pleased, mind. But he was… strange.'

'What do you –'

'Oi, Harry!'

Harry jumped, turning at the summons. He'd almost forgotten there was a common room full of students around them. Fred, George, Oliver and Angelina were by the fire, passing around a shifty bottle that looked suspiciously like Firewhisky. Fred beckoned his hand imperiously at him.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

'Chatting about you and that sweet young Ravenclaw,' Fred explained with a wicked grin. 'Feeling a bit randy out there, were you?'

Harry felt his face burn. Angelina choked so badly on her sip of the bottle that Oliver had to clap her hard on the back, shaking the whisky loose from her hand. George dove at once to catch it before it smashed to the floor. Several onlookers laughed.

'Dunno what you're on about,' Harry insisted loftily. He swiped a fresh butterbeer off a side table so hard he left shallow scrapes in the wood. 'Just because I didn't want to push her off her broom…'

'Wanted her _on_ yours, I take it?' George added, wagging a suggestive eyebrow.

'George!'

The chastisement was so sharp, and George's cringe so deep, that Harry thought fleetingly Mrs Weasley had somehow appeared in the Gryffindor common room. But then he saw it was Ginny, who stood just a few feet away with a group of second years. She was glaring at her brother with a very Molly Weasleyish expression, hands on her hips. George sputtered into uncharacteristic silence.

Everyone within hearing range was snorting on their drinks now, except for Ginny and Hermione – who looked nearly as stern. Harry, scowling, gathered what was left of his dignity and headed across the room to stand with Ron and his form mates in their corner instead.

'Don't know why you care,' Ron said bracingly, clapping Harry on the shoulder as he joined them. 'They're always taking the mickey.'

'In front of everyone?' Harry complained in a hiss. 'Now they'll all think I fancy Cho.'

Dean shrugged. 'She's well fit, mate,' he put in seriously.

'And she's a good flier,' Seamus opined.

'And I don't even _know_ her,' Harry pointed out. 'Just drop it, yeah? Have all the crisps gone?'

Gradually, people seemed to move on from Harry's love life as the party grew more boisterous with each passing hour. McGonagall finally turned up just after one in the morning, draped in a tartan dressing gown and with the expression of post-temper irritation that Harry recognised so well by now.

He ducked toward the spiral staircase before she even began to shout.

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Sirius prowled the forest path while he counted down the hours. Twilight was just settling over the trees, sending beams of scarlet and violet through the branches. It glistened off the few patches of snow that had survived the thaws. He sighed in contentment.

Tonight. He'd do it tonight. The thrill of the match, the knowledge that the school would be sated and peaceful by the early morning hours… the wonderful list that the cat had brought him… he had a good feeling, tonight.

By this time tomorrow, he could be ringing in twilight a free man.

His feet carried him down the old haunt automatically, to the edges of the meadow in which he'd seen his godson and Snape so many months ago. He threw himself upon the flat rock at the border, watching the moon rise.

A few hours' rest… then he would go…

Soft humming woke him. For a moment, in the bleary realm between sleep and wakefulness, he did not quite register the sound. Then his eyes popped wide at its nearness. It was still fairly light; the moon had not yet risen. He raised his head, readying to flee…

A young girl was seated next to him, sorting through a pile of odd-looking green, bulbous plants. She was banging each round root off the stone, as if performing some sort of test. Most she placed into a little basket at her side. Others she chucked over her shoulder to the earth again. She did not seem to notice her hulking companion.

This girl had to be one of the oddest children Sirius had ever witnessed. She had dirty blonde hair that hung in loose waves almost to her waist, obscuring most of her face from view. She wore Hogwarts robes with the Ravenclaw crest, though the eagle was barely visible beneath a hand-knit scarf and the tattered edge of a bohemian bag. On her feet, Sirius noted mismatched boots in lurid shades of green and pink. She looked vaguely familiar, though it could not have been possible they'd met before. Sirius was quite certain he would not have forgotten making _this_ child's acquaintance… and she had to be Harry's age, or perhaps younger. He could not have known her before Azkaban. It was possible, he supposed, that he'd just seen her peripherally in the grounds; perhaps in the stands.

He was so fascinated by her strange appearance and odd little routine, he quite forgot he ought to be making himself scarce.

And then she stopped her humming.

'I wondered when you'd wake,' the girl said softly. She did not turn immediately, but Sirius could tell she was speaking to him.

He stayed still and silent, debating whether running was the safest option.

'Don't worry,' she continued, choosing another plant. 'I haven't been waiting long. I wouldn't have intruded at all, of course, but this is the best spot for weighing the gurdyroots.'

Sirius stared, utterly confused. He supposed she was referencing the bulbous plants.

As if in answer, the girl held one out toward him. 'They're quite useful,' she told him seriously. 'They ward off pests, of course. We use them at home for the Gulping Plimpies, mostly, but they don't keep well in the post. This is the first natural patch I've managed to find.'

She smiled sweetly at him. Sirius blinked. The girl took the gurdyroot back again, banging it off the stone like the others.

'Infested,' she said with a sigh, chucking that one away. She lifted another in its place.

'I'd offer you one,' the girl said, 'But of course, there's nowhere for you to hold it, now. I suppose I could leave one here for you – for when you change back to a man…'

Sirius stiffened automatically, feeling his hackles raise in alarm. The girl merely smiled vaguely again. She leaned forward toward him. Every logical part of his brain was screaming at him to flee… but something held him in place. He stared into the girl's eyes; but he could not discern what she knew.

'It's alright,' the girl whispered conspiratorially. 'You aren't bad at it, or anything… it's just your expression. The eyes; you know. People always miss the eyes, somehow, don't they?'

She shrugged, beginning the odd examination process again with the new plant.

'I wish I had another form too,' the girl mused as she banged. 'It must be so lovely not to have to wear shoes… and of course, the Blibbering Humdingers won't mate with humans too nearby. I've always wanted to watch that.'

Sirius shook himself, wondering if he'd finally cracked. The girl seemed completely unperturbed as she stowed the latest plant in the basket. Sirius supposed this one was free of infestation with… whatever it was that infested gurdyroots. She tilted her head, considering him.

'I'm not allowed to be here either, you know,' she said kindly. 'No… the forest isn't permitted, for students. But I like it here. It's quiet, and safe – if you're a friend to the ones at home here. The forest harbours only the innocent. And somehow, they can always tell, can't they?'

He stared at her. The girl did not seem to be expecting an answer.

'Yes…' she continued, nodding to herself. 'I suppose I'll get into terrible trouble, if I'm caught. But nobody seems to notice when I've come out here. It's liberating, isn't it? Anonymity… It can get lonely, sometimes, but it has its upsides too. I suppose you have your reasons.'

She stood in her odd, mismatched boots, pulling the full basket up with her.

'Well, it was lovely to chat with you,' she told him sincerely. 'I haven't had proper conversation in weeks. I'm Luna, by the way.'

She held out her hand expectantly. Sirius, at a complete loss, stared at it blankly for a moment. Then, feeling like a complete dolt, he bumped his head once under her palm. This must have been the right thing to do, for Luna smiled.

She turned her face to the sky, watching the brightening moon.

'I ought to go back, I suppose,' she said at last. 'After all – we can't stay hidden forever, can we?'

She gave one last smile in parting and whirled, skipping off toward the path with her straggly hair bouncing and her basket swinging. Sirius watched her out of sight in bemusement, contemplating the odd interaction. When the humming at last faded from view, he too turned his face skyward, taking in the waxing moon.

 _No…_

 _He could not._

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 _He was in the forest, his broomstick clutched in one hand as he walked along the leaf-strewn path. Ahead, a bright, gleaming Stag was guiding his way, its eerie light the only illumination amidst the trees._

 _The stag began to move faster… cantering now, yet leaving no prints in the earth. Harry sped up. He was panting, trying to keep it in sight… Then the beast veered off behind a great oak tree. Harry hurried to the place, but he was too late. The stag had gone._

 _Panting, Harry clutched at the wood of the tree, his eyes desperately scanning the darkness…_

 _A flicker._

 _He smiled, moving for the light…_

 _He'd found the meadow; the one with the valerian plants… the grey eyes were here again, watching him through the edges of the forest. Harry moved for them automatically… but he blinked, and the eyes were no longer there._

 _It was the stag again, majestic and proud, watching Harry as the boy grew closer and closer. Harry reached out to touch him… but his hand merely passed through the light. He brought it down again, searching the silver face..._

 _The stag looked up – up to the sky… and it morphed; became a silvery white phoenix. Harry stepped back in shock as the ghostly bird gave a mournful cry, soaring overhead. As he watched, the phoenix rose higher and higher, until its form was lost entirely – blending into a bright full moon…_

 _He had to find it._

 _He mounted the broomstick, kicking off from the meadow…_

 _And he tumbled at once to soft, warm earth. The Firebolt had thickened; it was brightly coloured with a plastic seat as it laid itself down on the grass beside him._

 _Harry was in a garden, surrounded by high, brick walls. The grass was smooth and lush beneath his knees; flowers of varying colours bloomed from beds set around him._

 _The Stag stood sentry, its head bent toward him… its silver-white form transparent in the bright sunlight._

 _Harry giggled. He scooted closer… reaching for the light…_

 _And something tackled him from behind._

 _He let out a gasp of surprise, turning his head… grey eyes were staring at him, surrounded by black fur. He reached up to touch the dog's muzzle…_

'AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHH!'

Harry started awake, disoriented and gasping. He fumbled clumsily for the opening in his hangings, as Ron's cry cut off with an oddly chocked gurgle.

'What's going –' Seamus Finnigan began sleepily. But he too was cut off midsentence, just as Harry found the gap and yanked the hangings open.

In the millisecond that he could take in the room, he saw Ron, Seamus, Neville and Dean all frozen – stiff as logs in their respective beds. A tall, filthy man stood in the space between his four-poster and Ron's, a long silver knife clutched in one skeletal hand, Ron's new willow wand held in his left.

Sirius Black had come again.

' _Expelliarmus!_ ' he cried automatically; desperately. Ron's wand went flying out of Black's hand at the wandless spell, clattering to a rest somewhere against the far wall.

Harry did not even have time to scream.

Black whirled at once, and he had barely taken a second breath before the man was upon him. Rough hands forced him horizontal again, the one that had held the wand coming up to slam against his mouth, stifling his voice entirely. Harry bucked and struggled in vain, attempting to free himself. He felt the graze of the silver knife rip his pyjamas and tickle dangerously at his torso as he writhed. Without dropping it, Black managed to grasp Harry's wrists in an iron grip. He tried to bite the man's fingers… but the hand on his mouth was jamming his jaws in place.

'Stop!' Black rasped out in a low voice. 'Don't, Harry, I'm not going to hurt you.'

The long silver knife cut a shallow line in Harry's forearm as he spoke, where Harry was still attempting to wrench his hands free. He looked desperately toward the door to the room… but it did not seem their scuffle had awoken those in the dormitories below. Ron's eyes – just visible in the gap between Black's elbow and his robes – were wide as saucers as they tracked the pair in silence.

'Harry!' Black called again, a bit louder. 'Look at me!'

Harry did. He was not sure why. Beneath the tangle of matted hair, he found Black's eyes: curiously bright, familiar grey eyes.

He stopped his struggling momentarily, startled.

'That's it,' Black crooned. 'It's alright, Harry.'

Still, Harry was frozen.

'Wandless magic,' Black said in a whisper. 'Impressive. Your father would be –'

But the words brought reality rushing back. Harry bucked again, so unexpectedly that he was able at last to rip one hand free…

 _How DARE this man talk about his father… after what he'd DONE to them? HOW DARE HE…_

'Harry, no!' Black cried again, as Harry's flailing wrist sliced hard against the blade of the knife in its escape. Harry felt a sharp pain that barely registered through his panic and anger… and then hot, sticky liquid began to soak the bedclothes.

'Shite,' Black muttered. He flung the knife aside, farther down the bed, moved Harry's still-pinned hand to beneath his knee instead, and grasped the tousled bedsheet. He caught up the bleeding arm in the folds of the fabric, pressing hard against the gash as he kept Harry trapped. Harry let out a muffled roar at the contact. Black's eyes snapped to his face again.

'The Rat,' he said, his voice much harsher. He was bent so close that Harry could feel hot breath against his cheeks. 'The _Rat_ , Harry! I'm here for –'

The door of the dormitory burst suddenly ajar, banging off the wall.

'Ron? I thought I heard –'

Both Black and Harry turned at once. Percy Weasley was framed in the doorway, his eyes widening in shock and horror as he spotted Black and Harry on the bed. Faster than Harry would have thought possible, the Head Boy had his wand drawn from his dressing gown.

' _Stupefy_!' Percy bellowed, brandishing the wand at Black.

But Black was ready for the curse. He dove off the bed in a flash. The stream of red light smashed the water jug on the window ledge instead, sending a torrent of ceramic shards over the floor. Harry struggled to sit up as Black's hand shot out, reclaiming the knife from the end of the mattress.

'Percy!' Harry called desperately as Black made for the door.

Percy had his wand raised again, but Black was quicker. He shoved Percy bodily with his shoulder, sending the boy crashing to the floor. Percy's wand bounced out of his hand on impact.

'He's getting AWAY!' Harry roared, watching the tattered hem of Black's robes slip round the end of the door. He threw himself to his feet, scrambling after the traitor.

'No, Harry!'

Percy had pulled himself up again. He caught Harry round the middle and yanked him back from the door. ' _Finite_ ,' Percy ground out, waving his wand with the other hand at the four frozen figures in their beds.

' _Let… me… go_!' Harry snarled, pushing frantically at Percy's restraint. Behind them, he could hear the others getting unsteadily to their own feet.

'Are you mad?' Percy hissed. He latched the other arm around Harry's waist too, grunting with the effort. 'He'll kill you! He's – Harry, you're bleeding… Merlin, it's everywhere –'

The older boy's grip loosened slightly in his shock, and Harry took the advantage. He pushed himself at last free of his second captor of the night, and hurled himself through the door before Percy or any of the others could stop him again.

He raced down the spiralling stairs, blood pumping in his ears and hatred fuelling his heart.

 _He'd get him… this was it… Black had stayed too long; someone had heard. Black didn't have a wand…_

Doors to the other dormitories opened as he passed, the boys of other forms roused by the fight at last, or perhaps by the stomping of fleeing figures on the stairs. Bleary-eyed first years peeked out at the fourth turn, and Fred and George emerged still grinning from the evening.

'Excellent, are we – Harry?' Fred asked, his smile faltering as Harry pushed roughly past him.

He burst into the common room, ignoring the mutterings and shouts he could hear in the stairs behind him. But the room was deserted entirely.

 _This did not make sense… how could he not have caught up by now? Black ought to have at least been here, if he hadn't found him on the stairs… Had he already gone through the portrait hole?_

Before Harry could decide whether to search the room or leave the Tower, the flood of students erupted through the door behind him. Ten hands were suddenly on him, pulling him back toward the sofas.

'Are you _MENTAL_?' Ron bellowed. His face was bloodless as it came into view in front of Harry's. He pressed the bloodied sheet back on Harry's arm. Harry held it there, still fuming.

'Ron,' Percy said in semi-chastisement, 'Enough. Everyone – keep here and keep together, I ought to get –'

'What's going on?' George demanded, frowning.

'Why's Harry –' Colin Creevey cut in.

'Who's –'

There was another thunder of footsteps, and suddenly girls were streaming into the common room too.

'What's with the racket?' a seventh year with a hairnet demanded.

'Professor McGonagall told us to pack it in!'

'Harry – oh my god, what's happened?' Hermione asked in shock. She pushed through the crowd, rushing for the cluster of boys at the nearest sofa. She lifted the edge of the sheet with trembling fingers. 'How did you –'

'Sirius Black,' Ron said curtly. 'In the dormitory. Had a knife, woke me up and then went for Harry.'

The common room went utterly still. Hermione's fingers clenched so hard that Harry let out a hiss.

'Sorry! Sorry!' she wailed, pulling the sheet back over the wound and pressing to stop the blood. 'Someone needs to get –'

'Now, really, this is out of order!'

Harry felt a rush of relief. Minerva was back, slamming the portrait hole behind her as she strode angrily into the Tower.

'I am thrilled that Gryffindor won the match, but this is –'

She paused, catching sight of Harry for the first time. Her eyes flashed as she took in the bedsheet, and then roamed the crowd of pale-faced students.

'What has happened?' she demanded. She moved quickly to Harry's side, crouching down to examine his arm and the nail gauges etched in his face.

'Sirius Black!' Ron said, backing away so she could get in. 'Here, in our dormitory. He attacked us – cut Harry with a knife!'

McGonagall's face grew hard. She looked between Harry, Ron and Percy.

Percy cleared his throat. 'It's true, professor,' he said gravely. 'I don't know how he got in, but I saw him myself. He ran for it and Harry chased him, we followed…'

'You did _what_?!' Minerva hissed, glaring at Harry so fiercely he was vaguely surprised not to have been hexed.

'Never mind that – he's gone, professor! We have to find him! He's got to be in –'

'Mr Weasley, Mr Wood,' Minerva cut across him, 'Go _together_ and fetch the headmaster at once. Ms Fuller, Ms Jones,' she turned to point at two seventh year girls, 'Run and wake Madam Pomfrey. _Nobody_ _else_ is to leave the Tower.'

The four students hurried for the portrait hole, wands out and faces tense.

'I can go down to the wing on my own,' Harry grumbled, irritated at the thought of Madam Pomfrey bustling about with the entire House watching. 'It's not even that deep a cut.'

'You are not to _move_ from my sight,' Minerva said sharply. 'And I will not leave the Tower unprotected, when we've no idea where Black has gone. Stay seated and silent, for Merlin's sake, until Albus gets here. Ms Granger – come hold this tight.'

She waited until Hermione had taken her place, then drew her own wand from the folds of her tartan dressing gown. 'I want a word with the knight,' she explained brusquely, sweeping for the portrait. The House watched in stunned silence as Sir Cadogan boasted proudly of the man who had had all the week's passwords, written out on a little slip of parchment. He confirmed, at least, the Black had certainly left the Tower 'in high haste,' which seemed to relax Minerva just a fraction.

Poor Neville was soon receiving the sharpest chastisement Harry had ever heard Minerva impart – and that included his own reprimand after the forest this summer _and_ the vicious tongue lashing he'd witnessed that very afternoon. He felt awful for him just watching, and was so distracted he missed Hermione and Ron's whispered conversation for several minutes. Many of the others had broken away now, chatting quietly in smaller groups or shooting fearful looks at Minerva's tirade.

'Harry?' Ron asked, closer to Harry's ear. Harry jumped back a bit.

'Wh – sorry,' he said, shaking his head a bit. 'I didn't hear…'

Ron and Hermione exchanged a worried look. He pushed himself a bit straighter against the cushions of the sofa.

' _What_?'

'We… we were just saying,' Hermione began tentatively. 'That it's a bit odd – don't you think?'

'What's odd?' Harry repeated dully. The adrenaline was fading now… leaving growing pain in his arm, and boiling anger in his stomach.

'That Black just up and left, mate,' Ron said in an undertone. 'You know… he put _petrificus totalus_ on us… it would have been just as easy to kill us. And then – he stops for a nice chat with you?'

'I wouldn't call it _nice_ ,' said Harry darkly, brandishing his blood-soaked arm. Hermione yanked it back with a glare.

'Still though,' she said, ' _Why_ did he talk with you at all? Ron had already shouted by then, hadn't he? He must have known there was a good chance someone would hear… I would have thought he'd run then, or else…'

She trailed off, looking scared again.

'Kill me, and get out?' Harry offered harshly. 'Yeah, well, that would have made more sense. Maybe he wanted to goad me – going on about my father…'

'But that's mad!' Hermione said.

'Hermione, he's a madman,' Ron said pointedly. 'Of course he –'

'He's not, though,' Harry disagreed. He frowned, trying to consider through the growing fog of pain and fatigue. 'He's not mad; not in the real sense… that was the whole point. It's why he got out in the first place… He said he didn't want to hurt me –'

'Oh yeah,' Ron said with a mirthless laugh. ' _That's_ honesty…'

'He has these grey eyes…' Harry remembered hazily, hardly following the train of conversation as bits of the night came back to him. 'I dreamed about them, I think. Only it didn't feel like a dream, really. It was more like, a memory…'

Ron and Hermione exchanged another significant look.

'Harry, mate, you've lost a lot of blood,' Ron put in bracingly. 'You can't know what you –'

'No,' Harry said in a sharper voice. 'I _saw_ him, Ron – he was inches from me, with that knife. And I felt –'

'He was there, Harry, remember?' Hermione said in a whisper. 'You told us yourself… he was friends with your mum and dad. You probably _do_ remember.'

Harry shook his head. 'But that's just it,' he said. 'I don't think… in my dreams, I don't remember his face. The eyes… they're the eyes of the Grim.'

Ron went whiter still. Even Hermione looked frightened. Harry barely noticed, still musing aloud.

'But why does the Grim have Sirius Black's eyes?'

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 33**

 **Me (Guest Reviewer)** : Thank you for your review! Oh, you and me both – nothing quite lives up to the experience of reading a fresh-off-the-press Harry Potter novel. That I am unlikely to experience the sensation again makes me both terribly sad and terribly grateful that I have the memories at all.

Though I cannot hope to replicate the feeling, I will do my best to get these chapters out promptly and am very happy you are enjoying this story so much! Great thought on Harry and Severus/Lily… I cannot answer, of course, but I _will_ hint that I wrote this scene _after_ a certain other interaction which takes place in what will be Part V and differs from the canon reveal… as I did not feel I would be able to bring this conversation where I wanted it without firming up what I wished to happen later on. So it is good to be thinking ahead.

I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

 **AECM** : Thanks for reviewing! Don't worry – I think Harry has learned a lesson this past chapter. He won't be ignoring Hermione. Hope you enjoy Chapter 34!

 **AlsoKnownAsMatt** : Thanks for reviewing! I am sorry you dislike Ron – I can see your scruples, and I think some of them are quite true… but I also think Ron is a typical young boy who takes a bit longer to mature at times and can, as Luna later points out, be rather cruel in his teenage thoughtlessness. At the same time, Scabbers _was_ his pet… and Hermione _did_ rather ignore his repeated attempts to eat him… so I can sort of see where he is coming from, even though I hate that it happens this way. Don't worry though – he gets a bit better in chapter 35 (as it helps that Harry's reaction is a bit more mature than in canon).

Snape! So glad you liked that bit. We don't get to see him too much as Head of House, so I was excited to explore that role a bit here. And his talk with Harry is one of the most valuable pieces of advice Harry has received yet, in my view – I thought it might be interesting to have Snape impart the wisdom, this time, as opposed to Albus. This is Snape's particular area of knowledge, after all.

Hope you like chapter 34!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for your review! Haha yes… _so_ many nerves. But I hope it will be a satisfyingly shocking moment (or is it series of moments?) when it all comes together. Enjoy Chapter 34!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for reviewing! Happy to hear you liked the chapter. I am well – just off my usual sleeping habits… but c'est la vie, at the moment.

Hope you enjoy Chapter 34!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thank you for reviewing! And, of course, welcome back :) the chapters posted very close together anyway, so I hardly blame you for not rapid-fire reviewing.

I'm glad you enjoyed the chapters! The Cattermole reference – yes, there is a family relation, though Stefan is not a child of Reg and Mary Cattermole, who we meet in the seventh book. Incidentally, the little Ravenclaw girl is a Selwyn – a Pure-blood name which also gets some canon play. I agree with you on the children's fault… I find it difficult, myself, to feel much sympathy for Ron or Harry – they most definitely acted in poor judgment. Poor Hermione – she really was trying to do the right thing. Interesting query on an alternate chain of events… yes, I do believe Hermione would have realised more than Harry does if Snape had taken her upstairs. I think she may already – she certainly hints as much at Christmas in Part I.

The kids' fighting… I'm glad you approved. Too often, I feel that readers expect they will have this perfect friendship that is always sunshine and roses… and that is just not realistic, even for Harry Potter. Children argue (adults argue, for that matter); they hold each other responsible even where they shouldn't… and no friendship is without strife. Still, it is perhaps through these moments of trial that we realise what true friendships mean to us, and what we are willing to do to ensure they endure.

I think that leads us to Snape's advice. He _is_ the last person you'd expect to care… but then again, is he? I think Snape, perhaps more than anyone else in the series, understands the value and the delicate nature of real friendship. Everything he said to Harry, here, he could have spoken to a younger version of himself about Lily. True, Snape's feelings for Lily were romantic in nature as well… but she was also his friend – his dearest friend – above all else. And, of course, his later friendship with the wrong sort led him into Lord Voldemort's service… and there are lessons to be gained from that as well. Snape cloaks his advice in the guise of ensuring Harry pulls his wandless magic up to scratch… but I think it's fairly clear from his perspective in the scene that the excuse is tangential at best (though Harry buys the excuse). Snape's true motives are a bit more complex. Perhaps it hits at the old wound – his own mistakes where Lily was concerned… perhaps he worries that pushing Hermione away will have a negative effect on Harry's ability to fulfil his destiny… perhaps he is simply looking to repair the friendship between Harry and Hermione because he cannot repair his relationship with Lily, and aiding her son is the next best thing. All valid motives, I think. I'm not sure even Snape has worked out why it is he goes there – but only that he's going to do it.

Sorry, that answer might have made more sense in my head.

Huzzah! Harry and Hermione reconciliation! I love her – and I loved writing Harry's maturity in that scene. And he, at least, is in a fairly good place with everyone right now – he's made up with Remus, he has worked through most of his anger at Albus and Minerva and pushed past their disappointment with him, and he's even in a semi-less-hostile position with Snape. Of course, the 'death' of Scabbers throws things off with Ron/Hermione… but we'll see how that plays out.

Fanmail charms! Haha, yes – this is actually something we had an allusion to way back in the early part of autumn term in Part I, when Snape finds Harry in the corridor after his detention with Lockhart. He snidely remarks that Harry must be used to answering such post, and Harry retorts that he's never received fanmail. Snape thinks about this odd fact, and makes a note to find out from Albus why that might be… but I left the answer open until now. I've always found it an interesting quandary… and this odd 'charm' is my answer to it. The charm (which is more a protection spell than the 'fanmail' way Minerva lightly describes it here) doesn't actually vanish or banish any letters from fanatics; instead, the post is 'diverted' elsewhere. Perhaps we shall get a fuller explanation if/when Harry brings the subject up with Albus.

On Albus… yes, I think there are _definitely_ downsides to his protective instinct. They will play out, in due course. As (of course) will Harry's eventual enlightening as to the headmaster and Minerva's relationship.

And Sirius… he is more sane than the other prisoners, quite true: because, of course, his innocence protects his mind in part, and cannot be dispelled by the Dementors' innocence. Yet he is still quite damaged from his time in Azkaban – and that damage will definitely warrant more complete addressing… if/when the moment arrives. (I can't say more without spoiling my plans for him, unfortunately – but I hope you'll like it when we get there!) As to any potential pairing… well, I think that would likely fall in the possible spoilers section too, sadly. Amelia Bones is an interesting suggestion, though I think she's a good deal older than Sirius (I've always imagined her to be about fifty from her description, though I suppose it is possible she is younger.) It would certainly be lovely for him to have a living companion… perhaps we will get there, one day.

Alas, another lengthy answer. But I suspect you have realised by now that I tend to write until the thoughts run dry… in any case, I hope you enjoy Chapter 34!

 **SpringRoll** : Thanks for your review! Yes, sadly both insomnia and morning sickness are rather par for the course in pregnancy… I wish I could tell you they're worth it – ask me again in a fortnight or so, lol. No, I tease – of course it will be worth it in the end.

Ah… Hermione's bit of altruism. Yes, it _was_ good of Albus to try and point out she had done the right thing; but, of course, Harry and Ron are a bit too in the moment to recognise that quite yet. Don't worry – Malfoy's insult, as I saw it, was muttered for Harry alone, though Hermione (as is her wont) is listening from up the queue. Ron's state is not described pre-fight, but I envisioned he was chatting with Dean or Seamus or Neville – not ignoring Malfoy, but just not privy to the exchange. I actually _did_ think about having Ron hear and jump in the fight as well… but I needed it to be Harry on his own with Snape for detention – that conversation would not have gone that way if Ron was there too. So, in the end, I gave Harry the sole cause for throwing punches.

Happy you enjoyed the Snape/Draco moment… it's the first real interaction with Malfoy of any substance this book, and contains a lot of bits of important information in both actual and subtext, though it is relatively short. Snape as the rather severe Head of House is also a side we don't get to explore that often… and, of course, we know precisely why he hates the term 'Mudblood.' Mmm and Snape's anger…. Yes, he is a bit too angry, quite often. But then, he's Snape. He is complex and three-dimensional, but he is also a bitter, broken, and angry man – even for all his eventually-revealed redeeming qualities. He is a character entirely in the grey – so many faults, and yet not without morals. Which is, of course, what makes him so intriguing to write and explore. How did JKR put it? That he is vindictive and bullying… but he died for the wizarding world. You are too right though – he could definitely use a spa minibreak. Perhaps Albus shall send Harry and Severus on a tropical holiday together? Thoughts?

Oh Ron… poor, sad, angry Ron. That moment when you think you've made your perfect box whole again – and then someone comes along and pulls a trap door in the floor. I think yours and Harry's feelings are in perfect harmony, at the moment. But never fear – there will be a solution to all the messiness.

Hope you enjoy Chapter 34!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thank you for your reviews! Glad you were able to catch up and that you are enjoying the story. _So_ many things going on right now… but we're moving toward a conclusion. Some will be tied up; some will carry over into Part III. Hopefully, the readers will all enjoy the journey as much as I'm loving the writing.

Enjoy the next chapter!


	35. The Werewolf's Quandary

**A/N:** Okay, well, I tried to get this update out before the big day… but the twins had other plans. Luckily, I had almost completed the chapter before that moment arrived; so you still get a new update despite the madness that is my life at the moment :). Now, this is definitely going to be a long and sappy A/N (I can't help it, really, hormones…), so I've put in an obvious break if you'd rather skip to the story.

On 7 March at 4:17 and 4:27 respectively, James and I welcomed our beautiful twin daughters into the world. I'm so happy and grateful to say that everyone – even James' poor hand – made it through the delivery in relatively one piece. James wins the bet on the date, by the way… I'm half convinced he slipped me something to ensure that would be true. But then, seven has always been our lucky number, so I can't say I'm upset at the occurrence.

Our elder daughter will be called Isobel (Ella) Cecily Parker. Our younger daughter will be called Céline Alexandra Grace.

I've heard countless times that motherhood changes you; that the world shifts on its axis in the moment they place your baby into your arms… but hearing about it and experiencing it really are not the same thing. The idea that you have actually _made_ something so pure, so innocent… and the immediate fear that you could screw her up through your own stupidity: yes, that alters everything. It even alters the way you see your own interactions with the world, in many ways… because there is a new need to leave her with something worth living in. And it changes how you see your husband (or wife, or partner) – completely and eternally. I have never been more in love than the moment I saw my daughters' faces… with them, or with James. I'm hardly sure – experiencing the difference – I had ever truly been in love before.

In any case, luckily for both my readers and my IMMENSE need for sleep, most of this chapter was completed and ready to go before the last – so there wasn't a ton left to write. The babies and my poor husband are all asleep as I type this… and James was kind enough to bring me my laptop _and_ kick our mothers out for the moment… so I finally have a lovely bit of a respite to finish up.

Okay, epic spill of emotions and feels has officially finished. I can already hear Severus sicking up in my head…. so I leave you to enjoy 'The Werewolf's Quandary.'

Please remember to **read and review**! My responses are at the end, as usual.

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **Chapter 35: The Werewolf's Quandary**

His heart was pounding as at last Sirius reached the edge of the trees. It had been lucky – a miracle, really – that he'd managed to make the escape at all. He had changed mid-flight down the winding staircase, hearing the sounds of Harry's desperate attempts to pursue him from above and the footfalls of other stirring children in the rooms around him as he went. He'd been terrified he might blow his cover… but the risk of remaining in human form had outweighed the fear. After all, he was much slower on two legs, and it was clear the dormitory was awakening.

He'd shifted back in the common room for his dash through the school, thanking the heavens that the long corridors remained in darkness and quiet. He burst through the great oak doors into the frigid grounds, shifting again in the wind as he tore for the forest. Behind him, he could hear the waking castle; see the flickering of lights reflected through the windows of the many turrets. And he knew hunters would be only minutes away, hot on his trail in the darkness.

Even now, he could not stop running.

And once again, he had failed.

Once again, Peter remained at large.

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Harry managed to convince Madam Pomfrey to let him stay in the Tower for the night, once he obediently took the three phials of Blood Replenishing potion and the antibiotic she forced on him before sealing up his arm and the more minor cuts on his torso and face. Harder to dissuade was Minerva, who – after sending the other students back up to bed – spent the remainder of the wait in argument with Harry in the common room. Only Dumbledore's reappearance finally put an end to the debate.

Albus had entered the Gryffindor Tower before even Madam Pomfrey's arrival, flooing through with Percy and Wood just behind. He'd spent just long enough in the room to assure himself that Harry would make a full recovery before sweeping off to oversee the search of the castle once more. When he returned nearly two hours later, he looked quite as weary as Harry felt.

'Albus,' Minerva said in a clipped greeting, 'It is no longer safe for Harry here. He ought to stay in your chambers this evening; at least until we are able to ensure more adequate measures for entrance into the Tower. That mad knight –'

'Has been removed,' the headmaster assured her calmly. 'I managed, in my sweep of the castle, to convince the Fat Lady to resume her post as guardian here. She has requested additional security… not entirely unreasonable, in my opinion. For this evening, I have stationed a rotating guard from the staff. Come tomorrow, I have agreed to place several security trolls outside the Tower. Sir Cadogan has been returned already to his own landing.'

'Brilliant,' said Harry with feeling. Though the knight was mildly entertaining, trying to pass him on a daily basis was almost as noxious as double Divination.

Minerva looked less than satisfied. 'Even so,' she insisted, 'That does not negate the fact that Black has now breached the threshold of this castle _twice_. I would feel much better if Harry –'

'But there's no real point, is there,' Harry pointed out. 'Even if I spend the night somewhere else, it's not as though Black will come back tonight. And if there're guards at the Tower door and everything…'

'Harry –'

'No, I do believe Harry is correct, Minerva,' Albus said heavily. 'Black is certainly not in the castle any longer. There is little else we can do, at this point, but try to all get some semblance of rest before dawn. We can reassess the situation in the morning.'

Minerva did not look pleased, but she agreed with a reluctant huff. After assuring them one last time that he felt quite recovered, Harry saw them through the portrait hole and went up to join his housemates.

Nobody talked of anything else for the whole of Sunday and well into the following week. Not only Harry, but all the boys in their dormitory were asked dozens of times to recount their adventure – first by the others in Gryffindor Tower, and later by the students of the other Houses in the Great Hall and the corridors. Harry knew the security measures in the castle were once again undergoing high scrutiny. He'd watched Albus and Minerva performing complicated spellwork in the grounds. Professor Flitwick had taught the front doors to recognise Sirius Black. Filch was prowling about the school, boarding up every crack he could find. The surly armed security trolls had arrived, and were to be seen pacing the corridor outside the portrait hole by the time the Gryffindors headed down to breakfast. And Percy – whether on his parents' instruction or his own initiative after Saturday's incident, Harry was unsure – had taken to tailing him nearly everywhere he went.

The one upside to the unfortunate incident, in Harry's opinion, was that he was not the only subject of the rest of the school's curiosity. Though everyone seemed to know Black had injured Harry in the attack, the other boys in his dormitory enjoyed nearly equal notoriety in the wake of Saturday's events. And unlike Harry, who was well used to constant attention by now, the other boys in his form did not seem quite as bothered by the repeated inquiries and exclamations. Indeed, Ron had retold his own version of the tale so many times by Wednesday evening, that Harry thought perhaps his mate had even convinced himself of some of the rather extravagant embellishments.

Heading out for Remus' anti-Dementor lesson at ten minutes to eight, he caught the tail end of one of these recitations.

'Rotting teeth and hair like a banshee,' Ron was whispering to his audience. 'And his face… like a skeleton he was – you could see every bone in his –'

'Course he looks rough,' Dean put in, coming through the portrait hole with Seamus and shaking his head. 'He's spent twelve years on holiday at Her Majesty's pleasure, hasn't he?'

Ron stopped retelling the harrowing adventure for the eleventh time to a group of avid-looking first-years and turned, gobsmacked, to Dean. 'On holiday?' he repeated, looking at Dean like he was mental. 'What are you on about? He's been in Azkaban!'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'It's a saying, Ron,' she explained. 'You know – in the Muggle world. It means someone's been in prison.'

Ron turned his bewildered expression to her instead. 'Where's the pleasure in that, then?' he demanded.

She opened her moth to lecture, but Harry jumped in. Ron and Hermione seemed to have finally been putting aside their differences in the wake of Black's newest break-in and Harry's subsequent injury, and he did not want their row heating up again.

'It's a bit of a quip,' he explained patiently. 'The Queen, you know… Her Majesty. People who get sent to prison are sentenced to serve a term at her majesty's pleasure… you get it?'

Ron still looked confused. 'Yeah… but she's not _our_ queen… so wizards can't be –'

'Never mind, mate,' said Dean, his hand at his temple.

Harry laughed and ducked through the portrait hole.

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'Cornelius, I am afraid that is my final answer,' Albus said patiently. 'You may tell the delegations I shall be at the meeting in June, but I will not leave the school tonight.'

'But… but Albus!' the Minister sputtered. 'The entire affair was your idea! How can you duck out now?'

'It is not a question of ducking out of anything, Cornelius,' the headmaster disagreed. 'You know what occurred here only Saturday. The new wards will strengthen faster if I am within the castle as often as possible this next week. I am afraid even a few hours' absence could set us back significantly. Please send my regards.'

Cornelius huffed, pacing the floor in front of the headmaster's fire as he spun his bowler hat round and round his index finger. 'Karkaroff shan't be pleased,' he noted. 'He has been making difficulties since the beginning. And only this past week he sent a missive to Bagman asking that the tournament be moved to Durmstrang.'

'An unusual request,' Albus noted. 'Given that Igor's concerns for the continued secrecy of the institute have been his more vocal opposition to the entire scheme since October.'

'I know, I know,' Cornelius agreed. He ran a hand over his thinning hair. 'But I wonder if he might be right, Albus. I mean,' he paused, turning at the hearth. 'Perhaps he is unwilling to commit himself to eight months in Britain, after his – er – past experiences,' he mused. 'But I'm not sure it matters. If we are unable to recapture Black before autumn… well, it seems irresponsible to bring all this hoopla to Hogwarts, doesn't it? Perhaps we should allow Karkaroff to –'

'No,' said Albus firmly. Cornelius stared. 'If we do not succeed in the recapture of Sirius Black before the start of next term,' the headmaster explained carefully, 'Then our problems, Cornelius, are far greater than we realise. However, as much as I feel this event an important step in renewing ties with the wizarding community throughout Europe and desire to encourage international awareness and cooperation among our students… I cannot agree to leave Hogwarts for an entire school year. And I suspect Igor and Olympe will consider it an offence if I were to send another in my place. It is, after all, tradition for the other Heads of School to pay the host the compliment of their presence throughout the tournament, to say nothing of their role on the panel.'

Cornelius looked nervous. 'But… surely, Dumbledore, Minerva could oversee things here. It is only –'

'My answer is no, Cornelius,' Albus repeated.

'But _why_?' the Minister pressed.

The headmaster sighed. He could not, of course, explain the circumstances entirely. It would not do to tell Cornelius of what had been foretold by Nurmengard's sole occupant… and though the Minister knew he'd taken charge of Harry the previous summer, Albus did not think it wise to enlighten the man on the extent of his relationship with the boy either. The Minister was not known for his discretion, after all… and information was power in their world.

But neither would he leave Harry or the castle unprotected. Nor would he remove the child from Hogwarts.

'Cornelius,' Albus said seriously, 'Surely, you must have noticed the ominous signs of late. Sirius Black's escape has been the most significant, of course… but it is not the only indication that the Dark side may be gathering strength once more. The events of the past two years here at Hogwarts… the rumours in London… we should not ignore the signs. We must be prepared, should the worst occur.'

Fudge paled slightly. The speed of the bowler hat's spin increased. 'Albus,' he croaked out. 'I… I know you have always believed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was not vanquished for good. But…'

'Lord Voldemort has not gone forever,' Albus confirmed, ignoring the Minister's flinch. 'To delay his return, unfortunately, is all we can hope to accomplish. He remains in a state between life and death, and thus he cannot be killed.'

Cornelius shuddered. 'He _isn't_ back though. Not now.'

'No,' the headmaster agreed. 'But he _will_ be, one day, Cornelius. And I rather think my absence would –'

'Quite right, quite right,' the Minister interrupted, nodding to himself. 'No… I concur. We ought to keep the tournament here. Bagman will approve, I expect. He was crushed at the suggestion a foreign government might take over the task.' He dabbed at his brow, where a light sweat had started to form. 'Well I suppose… ought to be going. They'll be arriving in town by half past. I'll pass on your message, Dumbledore.'

He turned for the fireplace, cramming his hat back into place.

'Cornelius,' Albus called. The portly man spun at the hearth. Albus considered him, blue eyes piercing. 'We are not yet at war,' he said carefully. 'But we shall not be able to afford complacency, when the moment arrives.'

The Minister gulped. His fingers trembled as they fumbled the mantel for the floo powder. 'He's gone, Albus,' he retorted, almost desperate. 'For now… he's gone. We'll… we can tackle the rest of it if the need arises. Good evening.'

And Cornelius Fudge threw himself into the fireplace, as if frantic to escape before the headmaster could continue unwelcome areas of conversation.

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'Good evening, Harry,' Remus said, opening the door a bit wider so Harry could slip past into the study. The boy was grinning ear to ear despite the week-end scare.

'Hi,' he said. He plopped down on his usual seat at the end of the sofa.

'You are unusually chipper this evening,' Remus noted as he took his own seat.

'Yeah, well, I'm excited to try this against the Boggart now,' Harry admitted. 'See if it was just a lucky chance, or if I can really do it.'

Remus smiled. 'You'll be fine,' he assured him. 'I must admit, even I was impressed with your Patronus on Saturday. And I have watched you stand on the precipice of success for months.'

'Albus says it was typical – to do it under pressure,' Harry said with a modest shrug. 'Dunno if that means I can with a Boggart, or the real thing… but it's a start.'

'It was an excellent start,' Remus agreed. 'And I would be willing to bet several packets of Honeydukes finest that you'll manage it again.'

He pulled the chest forward into the centre of the space, waiting while Harry climbed to his feet again. He paused with his hand above the latch. 'Ready?' he asked. The boy nodded, and Remus undid the catch.

' _Expecto Patronum!_ ' Harry bellowed, swirling his wand at the tall, black shape as the Boggart-Dementor took form before them.

Just as at the match, the huge silver stag burst from the tip of Harry's wand, nearly blinding them both in the small space. It threw itself at the Boggart, which stumbled back, tripping over the edge of its robes. Remus stepped forward.

' _Riddikulus!_ ' he said, coming between the Patronus and the Boggart. The creature shifted into a full moon again, though perhaps less powerful than it might have been before its confrontation with the stag. Remus guided it back into the chest and slammed the lid shut.

'Excellent, Harry!' he said, beaming as he turned back to him. The stag faded slowly into silver dust around them. Remus watched it disappear with a twinge in his chest.

Harry was watching him.

'What is it?' the boy asked. He was frowning despite his achievement. 'You had that same look on Saturday… did I do something wrong?'

Remus smiled sadly. 'No, Harry. You haven't done anything wrong at all. It's just… your Patronus is very familiar.'

'That's what Dumbledore said,' Harry groused. 'I wish _someone_ would tell me why –'

'It is the spitting image of your father's,' Remus explained patiently. 'James' Patronus was also a stag, precisely the same stag, in fact. Your mother's, incidentally, was the doe.'

Harry smiled back. 'Is that normal?' he asked. 'To have the same Patronus as your parent?'

Remus considered. 'It is… unusual,' he decided after a moment. 'But not unheard of. The Patronus channels our inner self, but it also channels that which protects us, and that which we love. It is not impossible for a Patronus to even change form in the course of a wizard or witch's lifetime. I suspect yours mirrors James' both because of his love for you and because of your similarities, in equal measure. And, of course, Patronuses are among the purest of light sorcery – formed by manifestation of love and protective magics: our guardians, as it were. It is why dark wizards and Death Eaters cannot conjure a Patronus.'

'Really?' Harry asked, looking shocked. 'I didn't know that.'

'Oh yes,' Remus affirmed. 'It is, as you know, a particularly difficult spell for any wizard to perform. But it is entirely impossible to do so if you are not driven by those qualities of essential goodness which a Patronus feeds on.'

He let Harry think on that for a moment, while he summoned a tea service and a selection of biscuits. He gestured to Harry to have a seat on the sofa again, and passed him a cup.

'In any case,' he continued after a moment, 'I'm glad your Patronus shares James' form. Prongs was always a majestic beast.'

'Prongs?' Harry repeated, looking eager.

Remus hesitated. They had been private nicknames – just for them, and the occasional friend. He hadn't meant to slip up just now… but then, Harry was James' son. And he had James' Patronus. If there was anyone who deserved to know…

'Yes,' he said after a moment. 'Prongs was our nickname for your father, when we were young. The antlers, you know.'

'But then… _you_ must be Moony!' Harry said excitedly. 'Like the full moon, I suppose… But what about Padfoot and Wormtail? Who are the other two M–'

But he cut himself off, biting at his lip and flushing as he realised his mistake. Remus eyed him shrewdly. Harry averted his eyes, but he'd said enough for the professor to guess.

'Yes, I am Moony,' he confirmed. 'That was your father and our friends' nickname for me at school. The other two – as I believe you were about to ask – were Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. Black was Padfoot. Peter was Wormtail. The four of us, as I have explained to you already, were somewhat of a unit at school. We called ourselves the Marauders.' He paused to consider. 'But I do wonder…' Remus went on, keeping his gaze on Harry, 'How is it that you've come to be so familiar with these nicknames? They were not in common use, outside the four of us. Not by anyone still living, at least. And I am certain I myself have never brought up the terms to you.'

Harry dodged the query, still chewing his lower lip. 'So… Black,' he asked hesitantly. 'He… he would, er, know everything that you lot did? About… the castle?'

Remus frowned. His brow furrowed as he contemplated the odd question. 'I don't…' he began. And then it clicked.

He stopped, his eyes narrowing. 'Where is it, Harry?'

'Where's what?' the boy shot back. His tone and his face screamed innocence, but Remus was sure it was an act.

'You _know_ what,' the professor insisted. 'The Map, Harry. I do not know _how_ you recovered it, nor do I think I _want_ to know, but –'

He cut himself off again, another errant thought clicking into place. His previous half-stern look of scrutiny became a glare. Harry flinched back, as though he could already sense the anger.

'You've used it!' Remus accused. ' _That's_ how you found out about Sirius and your parents, isn't it? It wasn't Ron or Hermione who told you after all… _you_ were in the pub, listening to Minerva. You snuck out of the school and into the village at the end of term. What were you _thinking_ , Harry!'

He stood, crossing his arms. The boy on the couch looked slightly cowed as he watched Remus' temper rise.

'Remus, I –'

'I do not want to hear excuses,' the professor said shortly. 'I am fully aware that Argus confiscated that Map many years ago… Peter was caught out-of-bounds in our seventh year. He managed to wipe the document, but for as miserable and malicious as the caretaker can be, Argus is no fool. He was able to guess enough. He took the map from Peter. Which means either you took it from his office directly, or you received it from someone who did.'

He paused again, a horrible thought occurring to him.

'Harry…. Tell me that map was not sent to you by –'

'No,' Harry said quickly. 'I… I won't tell you who gave it to me, but it was another student. It wasn't Black.'

Remus let out a long breath. 'Even so,' he said, returning to his ire. 'I cannot _believe_ you would be so careless not only not to hand such an item in to Albus or Minerva, but to actually _use_ it… especially when you have been told so many times of the danger Black poses. Look what happened only the other night, when a student left information about this castle lying around! None of us – myself, Albus, Minerva or any of the staff – can force you to take this danger seriously, Harry. But I would remind you that James and Lily gave their lives to ensure yours. You demean their sacrifice by gambling with your safety so carelessly, to say nothing of your express disobedience of the headmaster's orders. And for what? An afternoon out of the castle?'

Harry's flush grew brighter. 'I… I only did it the once,' he said in a small voice. 'Just that day. We weren't talking and everything was… I was angry. I wasn't thinking clearly. And, by the way, I can't be the _only_ one who hasn't told Dumbledore about the map,' he added, a little more defiantly.

Remus' eyes narrowed. 'What are you talking about?'

'The one-eyed witch,' Harry said. 'Just down the corridor. I used the passage through her hump to get to Hogsmeade before Christmas. There was no guard on it then, and there isn't anyone there now, either. And if what you're saying is true, then Black knows the tunnel is there. _You_ know that he knows… and you haven't done anything about it.'

Remus felt his stomach squirm slightly. But he still thought his assumption about the wards was correct.

'Sirius can't be using the passage,' he said aloud. 'The wards that Albus has set will not allow him to –'

'Well, the wards _can't_ be perfect, can they?' Harry challenged. 'After all, he's got past them twice now. So obviously _something_ is not –'

'Whatever the breach in the wards might be,' Remus insisted, 'It is unrelated to any possible use of a passage. The enchantment is on Hogwarts herself – not on her entrances.'

There was a long, tense silence.

'I should have told someone,' Harry finally admitted quietly. 'And I know I shouldn't have used it.' He stopped, shaking his head. 'I should have guessed you lot were the ones behind it,' he noted. 'After you gave me that book…'

Remus sighed. 'Do you have the map with you, Harry?'

The boy shook his head.

'Where is it?'

'In the dormitory,' said Harry. 'In my trunk.' He looked slightly annoyed, but resigned. 'I suppose you want me to bring it down?'

'Fifi,' Remus called. The little House-elf appeared at once. 'Please retrieve the enchanted piece of parchment from Mr Potter's trunk. You should find it in the third form boys' dormitory of Gryffindor Tower.'

The elf nodded, vanishing in a wink. The pair in the study did not speak until she'd returned less than a minute later, the Marauder's Map in hand. Remus thanked her and took the parchment. He clamped down on the emotions it stirred as he grasped it… he had not held this map in more than fifteen years.

'As the transgression was months ago, now,' he said at last, still looking at the map, 'I will not take points this time, Harry. Nor will I inform Albus at this moment.'

Harry looked up from his knees, his expression hopeful for the first time since Remus had brought up the map.

'However,' Remus qualified, 'If I _ever_ discover that you are using the passages again, or in any way feel that the headmaster must otherwise become aware of this discussion, I will not be covering up for you, do you understand?'

'Yes,' Harry said, nodding solemnly.

'And I cannot let you remain in possession of it, Harry,' Remus added, setting the map on a side table. 'It is too dangerous at this time… and too tempting. I would not be able to live with myself should you use it with terrible consequence. Already you have come far too close to danger this term for my liking.'

Harry nodded again. The professor was pleased he did not protest. He refilled their tea in an attempt to divert the sticky conversation.

'I don't get it though,' Harry said, breaking the tense silence. 'I mean… this is twice, now, Black's been so close to me. First in the forest, then in the dormitory. And he _still_ hasn't killed me.'

Remus felt cold at the thought. 'It was a very near thing both times, Harry,' he said seriously. He sank down into his usual armchair, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at the boy. 'Things might have gone quite differently in the forest, had Severus not arrived when he did. And on Saturday, if Percy Weasley had not surprised him…'

'Percy didn't come for a while though,' Harry said, shaking his head. 'Black had us all there on his own… he was on top of me. He _could_ have killed me.'

'From what Minerva has shared, you were badly injured,' Remus pointed out.

'He didn't cut me though,' Harry disagreed. 'Not deliberately,' he hedged, at Remus' noise of protest. 'I sort of sliced my arm myself, trying to break his hold. That knife was big enough to cut off my whole head, if he'd wanted to. And he didn't kill me with the wand either, before I'd disarmed him. Or Ron, Seamus, Dean or Neville. And he could have… I was the last one to wake. Why not silence the others, and then –'

'I do not know,' Remus cut in. 'But… Harry, the killing curse is not an easy spell to use, even for Dark wizards. It requires a great deal of powerful magic and a true intent to kill –'

'He showed twelve years ago he doesn't have a problem killing innocent people!' Harry spat viciously.

Remus shook his head. 'Black was a talented wizard, in his day. But his powers are likely to have atrophied in Azkaban. The fortress and the Dementors both are well known for their draining effects. Perhaps he felt it would be too difficult to kill five innocent boys in one go.'

'Maybe,' said Harry, though he looked unconvinced. Remus did not press the point.

Harry fingered the rim of his teacup, frowning. 'I had one other question,' he said. 'Seamus mentioned the other day that the Ministry's announced Black will get the Dementor's Kiss, whenever they catch him.'

'Yes,' Remus said heavily. 'It was in the _Prophet_ before the holidays. I'm surprised, actually, that it has not created more of a stir. The Ministry rarely allows the Dementor's Kiss to be performed… even in the days when Voldemort was powerful, it was a sentence only imposed a handful of times. I suppose the Ministry fears they will not be able to keep Sirius Black contained. I doubt Albus supports the decision.'

'Why?' Harry asked, still frowning. 'What _is_ the Dementor's Kiss? What does it do? I mean… do they even _have_ mouths? You can't really tell with those cloaks…'

'I am not in much of a position to answer,' Remus admitted darkly. 'I suppose they must have some form of mouth under their hoods, but almost everyone who might have seen it is no longer in a position to provide details. A Dementor never lowers its hood – except to perform the Kiss. It is their greatest and most terrible weapon, used to destroy its victim utterly.'

'How?' Harry pressed. He looked as though he were caught somewhere between fascination and revulsion.

Remus sighed. 'The Dementor's Kiss removes the victim's soul, entirely. It is an irreversible punishment.'

'They _kill_ –'

'Oh no,' Remus disagreed. 'Not kill. No, death with be kinder. You can live without your soul. The body, the brain, the heart… they remain functional even once the soul is removed. But without it… you lose all sense of self. You are naught but an empty shell, until – one day – you die. And your soul is lost forever. There is no afterlife, for those who suffer this fate. It is a permanent damnation.'

There was a long silence. Harry sipped his tea, not looking up. Remus placed his own cup aside. He no longer felt up to imbibing much of anything.

'He deserves it,' Harry said in a harsh whisper after a moment.

'Do you think so?' Remus asked. He tried to keep his tone light, non-judgmental. But his heartrate kicked up unseen all the same. 'Does _anyone_ deserve such a fate?'

'For what he did to them,' the boy insisted. His eyes were hard and cold, like they had been the day he'd burst into Remus' office from Hogsmeade.

'Some things… some things are unforgivable.'

By the time Remus saw Harry out, it was nearly ten o'clock. Though he was more physically and emotionally exhausted than he could remember being in years, he lay stewing in the bed for hours… watching the candles burn lower and lower as the guilt he had been wrestling with since July warred with his conscience.

He could still remember it – every detail.

It wasn't always that way with grief. More often, when terrible things had happened, Remus' mind protected him from the memories. He had flashes; bits and pieces of the tragedy. Days that blurred together, that were only recollected as if through a fog. He remembered only pain from the night he'd been turned… and only pain for days thereafter. He knew, from his parents, he'd screamed; knew he'd fought back, though he'd been less than five years old. He knew his father had beat the savage beast off him, that the struggle had gone on for more than twenty minutes… but he did not recall a moment.

He remembered sitting on a sofa with his father when they told him his mother was dead, but he could not call to mind a single word the bearer of the news had uttered… nor even who that person had been. When she'd been buried, all Remus could remember was the smell of peonies; she'd wanted only peonies at the funeral.

But 31 October 1981… he recalled every detail from that night. He remembered what he was wearing when Albus arrived. He remembered the very corner of the carpet he'd been sick on. He remembered the Indian take-away he'd been halfway through. He remembered everything.

 _The Floo ignited in an emerald rush, dumping Albus Dumbledore onto the hearthrug of the little cabin in the Dales. Remus dropped his fork in surprise and instant trepidation: it was most unlike the headmaster to enter unannounced. He jumped up from the sofa immediately, setting his supper aside._

 _Dumbledore's face, as he lifted his head, confirmed his worst fears about the urgency of the visit._

 _'You should sit back down, Remus,' Albus said softly._

 _The words were gentle, but there was a gravity in them that rendered their delivery almost as harsh. Remus remained standing._

 _'What has happened?' he asked, his own voice nearly a whisper._

 _The headmaster did not mince the words, though his ice-blue gaze was as mournful as Remus had ever seen._

 _'James and Lily Potter were killed tonight. Less than half an hour ago.'_

 _His heart, so recently pounding, seemed to clench in his chest. The world grew darker. Before Remus knew what was happening, Albus was there, his hands firm on Remus' arms as he lowered the younger man to the sofa again._

 _'No,' Remus gasped out, clutching at the headmaster's hand as if it were his only tether to reality. 'No… it is not possible. Sirius would never –'_

 _'I am afraid,' Albus said gently, 'There is no doubt in it. Minerva and Alastor are conferring with Millicent as we speak, and I myself must head back there as soon as possible. Although I realise this is supremely difficult for you, I must ask –'_

 _'What about Harry?' Remus interrupted. 'You didn't say –'_

 _'Harry lives,' Albus said, just the smallest hint of a smile appearing. 'And Remus – Lord Voldemort has gone.'_

 _'G-gone?!' Remus repeated, trying to make sense of the monumental barrage of terror, grief and elation. 'But how –'_

 _'Harry,' Albus said simply. 'Or Lily, perhaps, is the more accurate explanation. She gave her life to protect him, and in doing so made it impossible for Lord Voldemort to succeed in murdering the child. There is not time at the moment to get into the details… but Voldemort_ has _gone. For now.'_

 _'And… James… Lily,' Remus choked out. 'My god, I cannot believe he would –'_

 _'Remus,' the headmaster cut in again. The hand clenched around his, and Remus forced his eyes to Dumbledore's face. 'This is a terrible, terrible time,' Dumbledore said heavily. 'I do realise that. But it is also a critical time. There is much that we must do – and securing Harry's safety is paramount. You know what will happen next. They will come for him: everyone who remains. Our only chance to protect him fully, to offer him his greatest shield, lies in Lily's sacrifice.'_

 _'I don't –'_

 _'We must ensure that Lily's sister takes Harry into her home,' Albus explained. 'The protection Lily gave her life to establish must be utilised. It can give him a permanent sanctuary, if I place the proper charms on Harry and the Dursley residence. But doing so… there are things which must be seen to, first. Black is still at large, and I will need some time to –'_

 _'He_ can't _go to Petunia!' Remus shouted, startled out of his misery. 'You do not understand, Albus, that woman_ hated _Lily. She hated James! And her husband? He's worse. They can't be allowed to raise their son. Lily and James would never have –'_

 _'Lily and James are gone, Remus,' Albus said. 'And the only thing we can do for them, now, is protect their only son. This is not what I want for Harry either… but it is his best chance.'_

 _He sighed, taking a pocket watch from the folds of his robes and giving it a glance while Remus tried to marshal his thoughts._

 _'I must hurry,' the headmaster muttered as he replaced the watch. He pulled out a smooth, rounded stone in its place, pressing it into Remus' hands. As appalled as he currently felt with the man's pronouncement, Remus felt a pang of childlike terror as the cold of the stone replaced the headmaster's grip._

 _'This cabin is already well warded,' Albus said, taking his feet. 'But bury the stone beneath the threshold as soon as I depart. Hagrid should not be long now.'_

 _'H-Hagrid?' Remus repeated numbly._

 _The headmaster nodded. 'As I said, there are several arrangements which need to be made before Harry can be safely delivered to his guardians. In the meantime, we need to keep him both protected and out of the public eye. I sent Hagrid to retrieve Harry as soon as we received the news.'_

 _'You – you're bringing him_ here _?' Remus asked, shocked. 'Albus… I don't know if that's wise. I don't know if I will be able…'_

 _He trailed off, unsure how to put his feelings into words. He wanted to see the child more than anything; wanted to be there for him, to comfort him; to hold him and assure himself that Harry was unharmed._

 _But he was a mess._

 _The comforting hand returned, squeezing his shoulder once. 'You will be fine,' the headmaster assured him. 'I cannot bring him to the castle – not with both myself and Minerva running about the country. And Harry knows you; he will be comforted in your presence. The wards will allow none but myself, Hagrid and Harry to pass through. And it will not be longer than twenty-four hours… the blood protection will fade if we do not enforce it expediently. I shall return just as soon as I've seen to the Minister. Tell Hagrid that I shall arrange for a thestral to provide travel tomorrow evening to Surrey – the portkey will not be wise if we are arriving in a Muggle street.'_

 _'But what about Sirius?' Remus asked. He hauled himself to his feet as the headmaster made for the hearth again. Dumbledore turned at the flames, his eyes both understanding and grim._

 _'The Ministry has already sent a task force,' he said. 'And I have assigned several Order members as well. I doubt he will be able to outrun us all for long.'_

 _Remus swallowed heavily. The headmaster frowned._

 _'I do apologise,' he said, glancing at the pocket watch again. 'But I really must –'_

 _'Go,' Remus nodded curtly in understanding. 'I… I'll see you, sir. In a bit.'_

 _The headmaster inclined his head, spinning for the fire. In a moment, he had gone._

 _Remus vomited all over the carpet as soon as he'd returned from burying the Rune stone outside his doorstep. He cleaned the mess with a shaky wave of his wand, staining the pattern with the faulty magic. He sank to the sofa again and put his head between his knees, trying to find his breath. Lily and James, gone. Voldemort gone. Sirius in the wind – the worst sort of traitor. Sirius… who had loved James. Who adored Lily. Who was godfather to Harry. Who was family._

 _Family… had anyone bothered to tell Peter? Remus felt enormously guilty for not asking Dumbledore. Peter deserved to know too – he would be as devastated as Remus. Remus should have asked the headmaster to include Wormtail in the wards. He should have been able to Floo him now. They should have comforted each other; shared their grief. Instead, Remus was alone on his island. And he'd left Peter alone on his._

 _Hagrid was much longer than an hour._

 _Remus did not realise just how much time had passed – as he sat in unmoving misery on his sofa, waiting and thinking and grieving. He did not even hear the crash of his door banging off the wall as Hagrid sidled into the room. Only the change in the light as a gust of wind disturbed the embers jolted him out of his lethargy._

 _'Hagrid,' he said hoarsely, turning for the door at the flickering and noticing the giant there for the first time. The cool light framing him suggested it was coming on dawn. 'Goodness, Albus said you'd be here hours ago.'_

 _He climbed to his feet, ignoring the ache in his bones as he stood. He felt he had aged ten years this night._

 _'Had ter get him outta the house,' Hagrid explained, looking down at Harry's sleeping face. His voice was hushed as not to wake the child, but thick with suppressed tears. 'Took longer than I'd've thought, all the mess an' rubble. Then I was afraid ter take the portkey… he's so lit'le…'_

 _'Right,' Remus said, not truly listening. He approached the pair. For the first time, he noticed the jagged cut across Harry's tiny forehead. 'What's happened to him?' he demanded, pulling his wand at once. 'How did he get –'_

 _'You Know Who,' said Hagrid darkly. 'S'not deep, far as I can tell. And he weren't injured nowhere else.'_

 _Remus ran a diagnostic anyway. Hagrid was right: other than the lightning bolt cut, Harry appeared to be unharmed. And the wound was_ not _deep… but its existence offended Remus mortally. He felt angry blood boil beneath his skin._

 _'_ Episkey _!' he snarled, directing his spell at the child's forehead. The jet of light illuminated Harry's face, but the cut remained. Remus stared, surprised._

 _'_ EPISKEY _!' he said more firmly. The light was brighter this time, but the cut did not close. Remus frowned. A cut this shallow should not require anything stronger…_

 _'_ Vulnera Sanentur _,' he tried anyway, running the tip of his wand over the edges of the wound._

 _Again, the spell did nothing._

 _Hagrid shifted Harry to free one massive hand, patting Remus hard on the shoulder. 'Grief does odd things to magic,' he said sympathetically. 'Yeh need sleep, Remus. In the morning, yeh might be able ter – what're yeh doing?'_

 _Remus had broken away from the comfort, striding for the table. He pulled the knife he'd taken out for supper off the surface and muttered a quick cleaning spell at the blade. Then he ran the edge swiftly over his left palm._

 _'Remus!' Hagrid hissed, so loudly Harry began to stir. He started forward, but Remus held his other hand palm up to stop him, placing the knife back on the table. He pointed his wand at his bleeding hand._

 _'_ Episkey _,' he muttered. There was a small burst of light, and the cut sealed entirely. Remus flexed his fingers and looked up to catch Hagrid's eye. Hagrid was staring at the newly healed hand, bewildered._

 _'It's not my magic,' Remus explained, pocketing the wand again. 'It is the magic that caused the wound. Harry must have been hit by a dark spell. Dark magic wounds cannot always be sealed. It's likely, I think, that he will bear the scar forever.'_

 _Hagrid, apparently still too stunned for comment, did not say a word. Remus reached out toward Harry._

 _'Let me take him, for a while,' he said softly. 'You should rest if you are to travel to Surrey in a few hours, and Harry will need watching in the night. Dark magic can have side effects.'_

 _Hagrid hesitated a moment, but then he placed Harry in Remus' arms. The baby shifted slightly as he was handed over, nuzzling his tiny face into Remus' chest. The man's heart gave a painful throb again._

 _Hagrid slept until almost ten o'clock the following morning. Remus could have conjured a cot for Harry. He could have placed him aside. After an hour or two with no evident fever or concerning sign, he knew the child was not in imminent danger… yet he could not bear to put him down. Instead, Remus sat up against his own headboard with the baby in his arms. He wasn't sure if he slept at all… perhaps he had faded, for a time, into that odd state between sleep and waking. He was conscious, always, of the tiny breaths against his chest; the warm weight in his arms. He held the child and he waited… for Albus' return; for someone to tell him the worst was naught but a nightmare; for Sirius to come busting through the door with his doglike laugh… for James to pull his invisibility cloak from over his head, and send Harry into a squeal of giggles as he tossed him into the air. He knew, on some level, it was over. That his world had altered forever. But he sat in his tiny bedroom until the sun rose high in the Yorkshire sky… holding the baby, and hoping._

 _Hagrid and Harry stirred around the same time. Remus went through the motions automatically. He set breakfast to cook itself on the hob, changed Harry's nappy. He paid the post owl and let Hagrid peruse the_ Prophet _as they ate. He dug out a few toys he'd kept about, and put Harry on the hearthrug to amuse himself while he and Hagrid talked quietly. He cooed when the child padded up with a stuffed lion he'd made roar, and indulged him with a soft ball when he wanted a partner in his play._

 _Dumbledore arrived at half past two. He spent a half hour or so with Harry and the others. He brought no news of the outside world; nor could he heal the cut that marred the child's forehead. He left precisely at three o'clock, with a word to Hagrid on the need to be at Privet Drive at midnight._

 _Harry and Hagrid left at half six. Remus saw them into the garden, heart wrenching again as he handed the child to the gamekeeper. The thestral stood sentry in a corner, but Hagrid did not move to mount it._

 _'Where are you going?' Remus asked in surprise, as Hagrid patted the thestral and moved past it toward the opposite wall of the cabin._

 _'Gonna take the bike,' Hagrid said gruffly. As he spoke, Remus saw the giant pull a very familiar, gleaming motorbike from the shadows. He stared, a swell of panic and longing warring within him._

 _'You saw him?' he asked, stunned. 'He gave you this bike?'_

 _Hagrid gave him an odd look. 'Told yeh last night, didn't I? Sirius gave it to me – to get Harry sorted. Think it might be better for Harry than the thestral, all things equal. Right mess he was, seein' the house and James and Lily…'_

 _Remus barely heard him. He made for the motorbike at once, drawing his wand and casting every detection spell he could think of at the contraption. It glowed brightly beneath his charms, but no sign of danger made itself known._

 _Hagrid stared, bewildered. 'What're yeh on about, Remus?' he asked in confusion, as Remus at last pocketed the wand and began to run his hands along the metal in its place. 'Everythin' alright?'_

 _Remus hesitated. He hadn't spoken Sirius' name aloud since Albus had imparted his terrible truths the night before. He hadn't wanted to think about it; let alone face its realities. Yet… it did seem the bike was perfectly sound. And Hagrid_ had _brought Harry here the night before on it. Perhaps… perhaps Sirius had felt guilty. Perhaps he'd wanted to right his mistakes._

 _'Nothing,' Remus said softly, stepping back from the bike. 'I'm fine, Hagrid. Safe travels.'_

 _Hagrid threw a leg over the motorbike. Remus stooped to kiss Harry goodbye, and he watched them out of sight._

 _Albus reappeared at quarter past nine, stepping out of the fireplace and looking as though he hadn't slept since last they'd spoken._

 _'Albus,' Remus acknowledged. 'Hagrid and Harry have already left, I'm afraid.'_

 _'I expected as much,' Dumbledore replied. He swirled his wand through the air, conjuring a steaming pot of tea and two cups. The two men sat on the sofa together. Remus accepted the tea with a word of thanks._

 _'Any news?' he asked as he breathed in the steam._

 _The headmaster sighed heavily. 'Yes.' He placed his own cup aside for a moment, turning to face Remus more fully. His eyes bore the same weight of grief they had the previous night, and Remus felt his stomach squirm in response._

 _'Worse?' he choked out. 'How can it possibly be worse, Albus? Has Voldemort –'_

 _'No,' Dumbledore assured him quickly. 'Voldemort remains vanquished, for now. It is my personal belief that he may have fled the country… I doubt he would be foolish enough to seek refuge in Britain, with his position so compromised.'_

 _'Then what –'_

 _'Black has been captured,' Albus said before Remus could finish the query. 'He was tracked by Ministry officials and detained just after sundown, in Ulster.'_

 _'Ulster…' Remus repeated. The churning in his stomach doubled._

 _'Yes,' the headmaster confirmed. 'Peter Pettigrew was first to find him, though whether Black was headed for Peter or whether Peter had tracked Black to his hometown, I do not know. Either way, I am immensely grateful we placed additional protections around this cabin. Black enacted a ward about the street, in a Muggle neighbourhood. The Ministry was eventually able to break through… but they were not in time. Black blasted the street. A dozen Muggles were killed… as was Peter Pettigrew.'_

 _Remus' mind went wheeling again. As he had last night, the headmaster put a hand on his shoulder in comfort. With his other, Remus saw him tip a phial of some potion into Remus' teacup, which he pressed back into the other man's grip._

 _'Drink it,' the headmaster said solicitously. 'It will help.'_

 _Remus obeyed the command without thinking. He supposed it had been a calming draught the headmaster had added to the brew, for his heartrate slowed slightly in response. He suddenly felt extremely tired._

 _'This has been a great shock,' the headmaster said, reclaiming his own teacup. 'I am so sorry to have been the bringer of such devastating news, my dear boy. I hope it will be some comfort that Black has been taken to Azkaban, where I suspect he will spend the rest of his days for these crimes. I will start on the arrangements for James and Lily in the morning; they left some instruction before they died. Peter's service will be handled by his mother primarily, but I am sure she would be grateful for input from his friends as well.'_

 _Remus could not speak, and Albus did not press him. For several minutes, they simply sat in silence, draining the remainder of the tea as the darkness settled around the windows. Remus knew that Dumbledore did not have much time; that he had things to see to – for Harry and for the Wizarding World. But the headmaster did not comment on his need to depart for nearly half an hour. When at last the old man had finished his cup and made to stand, Remus had found his voice again._

 _'I'll help with the funerals,' Remus agreed quietly, setting his own tea aside as Dumbledore stood, 'For James and Lily, and for Peter. But then I am out, Albus.'_

 _The headmaster paused in retrieving his travelling cloak, turning to stare hard at Remus. The blue eyes were not unkind as they surveyed his face._

 _'Out,' Albus repeated. 'What do you mean, Remus?'_

 _He sighed. 'I can't do it, Albus,' Remus said more quietly. 'Not anymore. We've won, anyway – at least for now,' he amended as Albus opened his mouth to speak again. 'Voldemort has gone. Already half his followers that remained have been imprisoned or killed… it will be only weeks until the rest are rounded up. Except, perhaps, those who manage to talk their way out of punishment. And even they are unlikely to make trouble; not until Voldemort returns to strength. But…_ what _have we won, really?'_

 _'The chance to make a peaceful world again, my dear boy,' Albus answered softly. 'The chance at a new age; a time to rebuild, renew and heal. The knowledge that evil will not reign in Britain – slaughter will not become the norm, and children like Harry will be the exception instead of the rule. If that is not a worthy battle –'_

 _'It is,' Remus agreed hurriedly. 'It is, headmaster. I have always believed that, and I believe it still. It is why I fought with you; why I will fight again, should the time come. But Albus… we have won this war at a terrible cost. So many deaths… Marley, Sean, Edgar, the Prewetts… James, Lily, Peter… this war has taken everything from me. Everyone I love.'_

 _Dumbledore looked sad. He rested an aged hand on Remus' arm. 'I know precisely how you are feeling, Remus,' he assured him. 'And I wish I could tell you that it becomes easier, in time, to accept. But it does not. You will learn to live with the pain of it, however. And helping to rebuild the country will –'_

 _'No,' Remus cut in. He backed out of range, withdrawing his arm. 'No, Albus. I can't. I'm done. I can't_ be _in Britain, not when there is nothing left for me here. I'll… I'll go to the Continent. To Germany, perhaps, or Denmark. Somewhere where it's easier for people like me. I'll help,' he added quickly. 'If you need me, if you need assistance there that I can provide, I'll help. But I… I need to get out of here, sir. I need to be away from death and betrayal. Please – don't make me stay.'_

 _The headmaster considered him for a long moment. Remus held the gaze. At last, Albus sighed._

 _'Very well,' Dumbledore agreed. 'It is your life, Remus. And I wish you the best with it.' He turned for the fireplace again. 'I shall return in a day or so, to discuss arrangements for the burials. I will see to the details; you need not trouble yourself.'_

 _He stopped at the hearth again, giving Remus one last glance. Remus nodded._

 _'Is there anything else you wish to tell me, Remus?' the headmaster asked quietly. 'Anything at all?'_

 _He swallowed hard. There were a million things he wished to say, and a million he could not bear to discuss. Their secrets… But it was only he who was left to bear them._

 _'No, headmaster,' he whispered back. 'There is nothing.'_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The knock was at his bedchamber door – soft, but persistent.

Albus started awake, instantly alert. Beside him, Minerva stirred sleepily. The knock came again and she too sat up, looking in fear at the closed door.

'Is it Harry?' she asked in a whisper. 'In the middle of the night… Who else would –'

Albus shook his head, uncertain. 'One moment,' he called to the visitor.

He stood, wrapping a dressing gown around his waist. Minerva climbed out the other side of the great bed and hurried for the bathroom to stow herself out of sight. Albus waited until she'd closed the door before opening his.

It was not Harry.

'Remus,' he said in surprise. 'Goodness, it is half three. Is everything alright?'

Behind him, he heard the click of the bathroom door as Minerva re-entered the chamber. Her hair was thrown over her shoulder in a long plait, one hand clutching closed her tartan dressing gown. She looked in concern at the professor on the threshold.

Remus was pale, his eyes darting between the two before him with pain in his expression.

'Remus,' Albus repeated. 'What is it?'

The professor swallowed hard. 'Albus,' he said at last in a rasp. 'Albus… I must beg your forgiveness. I have not… I was not honest with you, not for years now. I told myself… I've _been_ telling myself it is not possible; that there was another means – another way. That my silence meant nothing. But now… Harry has started to remember. And all these break-ins, the wards… I am no longer sure –'

'Remus,' the headmaster said for a third time, interrupting. Remus raised his eyes from their dart around the bedchamber, holding his gaze.

'Headmaster… Sirius Black is an animagus.'

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 34**

 **AlsoKnownAsMatt** : Thanks for reviewing! Very happy to hear you enjoyed it so much, particularly the Snape lecture, as it was my personal favourite scene this chapter. Thank you for the well wishes as well – the twins' arrival was smooth as I suppose it could be, all things considered. I'll try to keep the updates quick despite the new hurdles!

Enjoy Chapter 35!

 **Mwinter1** : Thank you for your review! Glad you're liking the story, and hope the fast update is enjoyable!

 **SpringRoll** : Thank you for reviewing! Haha, first off, thank you for all your well wishes, and all my best to your cousin as well – such exciting news! I promise not to go anywhere, even with the little ones around.

Luna… she's amazing. Love her utterly. I had been scheming to bring her round for Part III, but then this little scene popped into my mind and I thought well, why not? And you're quite right: people dismiss her for her oddity and quirks, but she is often the most observant of the lot. The bit about her ability to sneak out without raising suspicion… yes, here I suppose she's quite Harry's opposite. Where everyone is always tailing his every move, poor Luna is entirely unnoticed. She's such a fascinating character – I'm excited to begin her part in this story. And Sirius got a bit of human company… always a lovely change from solitary musings. BIG moment for him at the end there, of course… what Harry does with it remains to be seen…

Ron and Hermione – haha yes, it's funny how when things and people we love are put in danger, it rather washes away the pettiness. Their conflict is definitely drawing to a close (we'll see it wrap this chapter). I'm glad you liked it; this was one driving catalyst behind the idea to change the second Black break-in scene, as I no longer have the Buckbeak dilemma to thaw the ice.

Quidditch match… oh yes, there is _much_ to unpack here. A lot of small reactions, slips and throw-away details which will have great significance later. I will say, this series of scenes took me by far the longest to craft; in part because we have a lot of changing POVs and in part because there were so many small things that needed inclusion. I hope it turned out alright.

Mmm pairings. I just knew this would come up after this chapter, haha. Felt a bit of trepidation starting down this road… but alas, the moment has come. Harry/Ginny, Harry/Hermione, Harry/Cho, Harry/Luna, Harry/Daphne, Harry/OC, Harry/Tonks… I can barely keep up with all the different shippers out there! XD But for now, I think we're a long way off from a lifetime partnership. But yes, he's definitely got a bit of a crush going, and I don't think Ginny is too happy (though of course, her bit in this chapter was really just her saving Harry humiliation).

Omg Snape's hairy heart – I love it! Great story :). As to my own favourite… I'll keep mum for the moment, as I suspect you'll be able to guess that before the end of our story. Haha but you are correct, it can be difficult to keep him so taciturn… especially because writing him really does warm me even more to his character. I suppose, on the upside, it makes me relish his bits of compassion and joy all that much more. And you are right – he is, slowly but surely, beginning to change as he grows to know Harry on a different level. It's subtle and _quite_ slow… but I think reading Part V or VI and then comparing to Part I, the differences will be stark. Glad you enjoyed the new Head of House moment! As to your question – oh yes, I definitely think he sees the danger and thinks a great deal about it. He is proud of students like Gemma, who show strength of character. And he is harsh on students like Malfoy in a manner that – in some ways – mirrors his situation with Harry. He cannot reveal his true motives, and on the surface his advice could be taken entirely differently… but he is trying to guide Malfoy all the same. An interesting dichotomy, and one we'll definitely see explored more fully – particularly once Voldemort returns.

Thank you again for the review, and I hope you like Chapter 35!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for your review! Yes, it was close… but I'm not sure Harry's really to blame. Certainly he's coming to some realisations, but then there's no real reason for him to possibly suspect anyone but Black could have been the traitor… after all, nobody else does. We'll see if he puts anything together after this latest interlude. Glad you liked the Dumbledore bit… angry Dumbledore is rather fun. No worries – I will never abandon this series (and yes, I know people often say that and then do… but I've put too many hours into this and mapped out far too much to duck out now). The twins' official due date was actually today, 15 March, though they got here eight days early. So happy to have pregnancy over with! Enjoy the next chapter!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thanks for your review! And thank you for the heads up on the typo – it has been corrected. Interesting thought on Crookshanks having captured Scabbers… it _would_ change the game, wouldn't it? I do feel bad for Harry caught in the middle – but luckily that argument is reaching resolution now. Haha that's excellent about your friend… one of my personal favourite 'wizarding' phrases.

Glad you liked the match perspectives. You are correct: Remus and Sirius saw Prongs as in James (not just his patronus), while Albus obviously does not know about the animagi yet. We'll see Harry follow up on this in the next chapter. As to Minerva, I too wanted to see punishment, haha. Although I find it a debatable point (Severus and Draco are both correct, at least in part, that chances of actual harm to Harry were probably slim), I _do_ think the Slytherins' intentions were malicious in this moment. Which is why Minerva elects to lecture them in Albus' study – far more imposing, I suspect. We had a headmistress and a deputy headmaster, and though I wasn't much of a mischief maker either…. I _did_ get summoned just once to the headmistress's study. And I was terrified. Mmm… Severus' second warning. Not a man who likes repeating himself, to be sure; and there was rather a lot in the warning itself. I suspect Draco will not enjoy the consequences should he stray again.

Luna! Happy you liked the conversation. She's such a fun character to explore. And _great_ guess on why he vaguely recognises her… it is entirely related to her mother. I won't give more details just yet, but I think you'll enjoy how that particular connection unfolds.

Haha, there have been two reviewers to this segment now that remarked they wished Sirius had been able to say his piece in full here. But though I totally understand the sentiment, you are correct, I think: it would be unrealistic at this stage. We'll get there though, I promise! And yes, he definitely feels awful for hurting Harry… and equally unhappy that Pettigrew was not there. On the potential pairing for Sirius… all good points on Bones and generally. I won't say too much more now on this, but if/when we get there I'll definitely keep our discussions in mind!

Oh, Minerva is _not_ going to be happy. Not with the portrait, not with Sirius, and not with Harry for chasing after him. We'll see a bit of how this affects all our characters at the start of this next chapter. As to Harry's deductions… definitely can't spill on that, but it won't all go down precisely how it does in canon. On Luna… well, she certainly knows the dog is a person. Whether she realises that person is Sirius Black – it's rather ambiguous. I wanted readers to be able to take it either way, for now. But she has a further part to play before our tale concludes.

I hope you enjoy Chapter 35!

 **Jasper's Mom** : Thank you for reviewing! Haha Ron… well, I'm rather in two minds. I quite understand his upset, to be honest, and he is only thirteen… but there are more important things in a friendship. Luckily, I think he rather realises this by the end of Chapter 34 following Sirius Black's attack. Though George would certainly have been an option.

Poor Snape – it's a tough position with Draco. We'll see how he reacts to this second warning… but Snape is not a particularly tolerant man. Disobedience for a third time would not be a wise decision. But then, Draco is not a particularly wise character.

Glad you liked Luna and Sirius! Can't say, of course, on Sirius' fate… I know a lot of people are rooting that he'll be cleared. I just remind everyone that it's a long project (this story will be told in at least six part, perhaps up to eight), and Sirius' part in the tale will stretch far beyond the conclusion of Part II. He's one of my favourite characters as well, and I have exciting things planned for him before the end of Part II. And Harry… yes, there's something stirring in his mind. Is it Sirius' innocence, exactly? Perhaps… perhaps not. It will be explored further in the next few instalments.

Enjoy the next chapter!

 **BlueWater5** : Thanks for your review! Hmm… I'm not sure on Dumbledore's reaction. I talked a bit about it above, but to me all three – Albus, Severus and even Draco – had legitimate points. It _was_ quite unlikely Harry could have been hurt, given that there were so many members of staff in attendance and the fact that Draco and his cronies could not have mimicked the Dementors' magic. However, I do not think Draco et al actually thought about the effect of Dementors at all – they were hoping Harry would fall regardless, from fear (although I think they varied on hoping he'd actually be injured). And so Albus is not wrong in his assessment either. I think his anger and lecture is less about what harm really could have happened than it is about malicious intention, because as he is so often telling Harry, almost _any_ magical act can be used for either good or evil, and intent is what makes the difference. Incidentally, the Stag (and the patronus), is actually our second example of 'truly light' magic that Dumbledore referenced in the discussion of Merlin's theory. The idea of intent will become very, _very_ important later on in this series. Mens rea, after all, is a necessary component of nearly every crime.

Glad you liked Remus' reaction! He'll have a discussion on the point with Harry this next chapter. And of course, Albus _certainly_ realised he isn't being told the full truth… so we may see the resulting fallout from that as well.

Enjoy Chapter 35!

 **Valkryie-Sythe** : Thanks for reviewing! Very glad to oblige with an update, and happy to hear you're still loving the story! We've a lot of ground to cover in these final ten chapters or so – I hope you like the continuation!

 **Baelkaz** : Thank you for your review! Happy to hear you enjoyed the chapter overall. I know there are a lot of people rooting for Sirius' happy ending… and I know it's frustrating sometimes to see him thwarted. Unfortunately, the moment just hasn't arrived quite yet. Hang in there – he'll have his moment to speak soon. Nobody wants to reach the end of Part II more than me, I promise you. Part III has been bursting my laptop for months now. To that end, I can absolutely guarantee I will not be going anywhere, even though the babies have arrived. Hope you enjoy chapter 35!

 **Leonore** : Thanks for the review! Lovely to hear you're still liking the story so much. I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter and the introduction of Luna… there's more to come from her before the end of the book! And as to Harry's revelations – we'll get follow-up from those thoughts in this next instalment. Enjoy the continuation!

 **Halfblooddemiwizard** : Thank you for your reviews! I am glad you've caught up and are loving the story. I apologise for the couple of gut-wrenching moments… we'll get a bit of lightness in the next chapter, I think. And yes, the events of Saturday definitely serve to heal Ron and Hermione's friendship, at least.

Hope you like Chapter 35!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you liked the chapter, and I promise they'll be some good things for Sirius before the end of this book. He's had a tough go of it – in past and in present. Enjoy Chapter 35!

 **AECM** : Thanks for you review! Glad you're still loving the story and I hope you like our continuation!

 **Deep (Review to chapter one)** : Thanks for reviewing! Happy to hear you are enjoying the stories and thank you for the compliments. Yes, the 'sMuggled' was probably a search and replace mistake. At some point I'll re-read for typos, but probably not until the end of Part II.

Hope you enjoy the next instalment!


	36. The Knight, the Bishop, the Rook

**A/N:** Thank you for all the well wishes and the reviews! As my last A/N was quite long, I'll keep this one brief. I am trying to keep these speedy, hoping that we can wrap up Part II and start into Part III by May (a lofty goal, but I like high expectations)… so here is your next instalment!

Enjoy 'The Knight, the Bishop, the Rook and the King'! Please remember to **read and review**! My responses are at the end, as usual.

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **Chapter 36: The Knight, the Bishop, the Rook and the King**

The clock on the mantel chimed half past three, but nobody in the circular office appeared remotely tired anymore. Minerva passed out cups of tea as each perched in their respective chairs, still and silent. The sofa sat abandoned. It was not a night for comfort.

Remus was white-faced and terrified to Albus' eyes. The headmaster had ushered him downstairs without a word of acknowledgement in answer to his pronouncement, Minerva taking his lead and following in equally stunned silence. He waited a full five minutes to begin the inquiries, until everyone was situated and Mina had brought the steaming tea service.

But now, it was time to know.

His gut told him Remus was not disloyal. His instincts were screaming in Remus' defence… protesting that whatever the reason Remus had had to keep this vital information from him, it was not done for nefarious purposes. In his heart, he believed Remus was true, and good.

But then, he'd thought the same of Sirius Black. Before that, he'd stifled his scruples over Gellert. And both times, his faith had led to disastrous consequences.

No more. Harry would not be another casualty of his folly.

'You know what I must ask you, Remus,' Albus said at last. 'And it is late. I do not have the patience for introductory queries. So start at the beginning, if you would.'

Remus nodded. He kept his eyes on his tea as he spoke.

'James and Sirius figured out what I was early. I do not know precisely when; it may have been as soon as our first year at the school. They confronted me in November of our second year with their deductions, just after a cycle. I was still in hospital wing recovering. They'd already told Peter by then, and he was with them. I was ashamed and terrified; I thought they would abandon me… but they did not. I thought they would run from me; that they would be disgusted… but they were not. Instead, they comforted me.'

He paused, taking a deep gulp of the tea. Albus waited in silence.

'They had questions, naturally,' Remus continued. 'After I was released, they asked them. We had not studied werewolves yet in school… what they knew was mostly the sort that all wizarding children hear: the bump in the night tales that parents tell to keep their little ones in bed and out of trouble. Monsters of legend. Almost all true, of course,' he added bitterly. 'I told them what I could; and the truth. They had guessed Madam Pomfrey brought me out to the willow's entrance for my transformations – James and Sirius had tailed her one night under James' invisibility cloak and seen us disappear into the passage. I explained about the shack. Sirius was fascinated. He wanted to come – to watch. I shouted him down. I told him how… how it was, at least in those days. That I lost my mind entirely when I was transformed. That all I knew was the Wolf; that all I cared for was quenching the insatiable thirst for human blood. That I would kill him and bathe in his blood, should he come too near. Sirius was always reckless. He thought I was exaggerating. Until I showed him the scars.'

Minerva made a noise from her seat to his left, but Albus silenced her with a sideways glance. Remus was still staring at his tea. He ran the hand not gripping the cup up his opposite forearm, where Albus knew the layered result of decades of self-torture was thick upon the skin.

'Peter was sick when I showed them my chest,' he recalled quietly. 'Sick all over the bed. I'd always taken great care not to reveal them before: the ones Madam Pomfrey could not heal, and those I'd received before Hogwarts. Most werewolf bites cannot be cured, of course. Even less so in those days. The scarring is terrible. Peter vomited and Sirius was appalled… but James, he was angry.'

'I do not understand,' Minerva said, breaking her silence at last. Albus tried to glance at her again, but her attention was entirely on Remus. 'How did this lead to Black's becoming an Animagus?'

'I'm getting there,' Remus promised. 'It was… you have to understand how it happened, or you won't understand at all.'

'Please, continue,' Albus prompted before Minerva could reply. Remus cleared his throat and went on.

'James was angry,' he repeated. 'He wanted to know why I did that to myself. I explained as best I could. I could not keep my human control, not in that form, but I always remembered. When I became human again, I knew what I'd done in my transformation. I was separated from human prey… and so I preyed on myself. I destroyed the house as best I could, and when the hunger became unbearable, when I could not satisfy the need by wrecking furniture or ripping up carpeting, I tore at my own body.

'It was Peter, actually, who started us down the path that would lead to the Animagus transformation. He asked whether I had ever bitten a human. He looked so frightened… but I am happy to say it was one query I was, and am still, able to deny. I explained that I'd always been in isolation in my transformations, even as a child. Of course, it was easier then. Werewolves change according to their development, so as a small boy my parents could contain me even in my usual bedroom, so long as they locked the door and put unbreakable charms on the windows. As I grew, my father had to use more powerful enchantments, and the basement served better than an upstairs room. But by the time I reached Hogwarts age, even these measures were growing dangerously close to inadequate. My parents never spoke of it to me, not when I was so young… but I knew they were frightened. My father took endless draughts to keep himself awake through the whole of the cycle. My mother was a Muggle, and I think… well, I know he feared she could not protect herself, if her son loosed his manic rage on her while she slept.'

Remus shuddered. In any other moment – at any other time – Albus would have said something comforting. But tonight, he kept his silence. Tonight, he too was a man who feared the inadequacies of the precautions he had taken to protect his child.

'So I explained what you told us, sir,' Remus said, glancing up fleetingly at Albus' face for the first time. 'About how I could come to school after all… the measures you would take to ensure I would be kept safely away from others at the full moon. It was –' he swallowed thickly – 'It was the most amazing gift, sir. The chance to be here, at the castle. To be educated. To perhaps make friends… I had never been allowed, as a boy. It was too dangerous. Werewolves were feared, shunned, sometimes even attacked by other wizards – especially in those days, when already there were mounting rumours and fears of dark activity. My parents did not want to run the risk that I may let something slip to a playmate. We moved house almost every year… sometimes even more often, if neighbours had noticed something odd. They kept me at home and taught me there. They had no other children. Sometimes, I suspect watching over me was too great a responsibility to risk distraction with a new baby.

'Anyway, I told them almost everything. James didn't like the isolation. He was convinced – they were _all_ convinced – that the transformation was harder because I was alone: that I would not be so deranged, so destructive, if I wasn't stuck in a house on my own. "Wolves are pack animals," I remember Sirius said. He'd dug an old book on werewolves out of the library and shoved it under my nose. "You need a pack, Remus. That's why you're going mad – shut up in there by yourself. You need a pack… and you need to run." I laughed at first.'

Remus smiled, though his eyes were sad.

'I told him it was impossible. I could not be controlled, in wolf form – not by myself or by others. To risk coming near me would be suicidal. Werewolves are equally dangerous to total strangers and their own family; that we were friends would have made no difference to me. And that… that's when James came up with the scheme. "Werewolves are only a danger to _humans_ ," he pointed out. I didn't get it – not at first. But then he explained… they could become animals too. The could become Animagi. They could keep me company as animals, where they could not as humans.'

' _They_?' Minerva repeated. 'What do you mean _they_?'

Remus looked up at her. 'All three of them,' he confirmed. 'James, Sirius and Peter. It seemed a distant dream at first… and it took them the better part of three years. James and Sirius were both clever students, as you know. They were able to help Peter along. By the autumn of our fifth year, they had managed it – all of them. It was the greatest gesture of kindness anyone has ever done for me. I… I could not bring myself to betray that gift, even now. Even when I should have, months ago. Perhaps years.'

And Albus remembered what Remus had said, the day Harry's Patronus had soared out of the sky…

'You did not misspeak after all,' he noted, looking at Remus. 'Harry's Patronus was not just James' Patronus… it was James, in his Animagus form.'

Remus nodded. 'Yes,' he confirmed. 'We called him Prongs… you may have heard the nickname before. He was always a stag, though the antlers did not grow so large until we'd come of age. Peter was a rat. And Sirius… Sirius was a dog. A huge, black dog.'

'A dog?' Albus repeated, suddenly sharp. 'Like a Grim, perhaps?'

Remus' brow furrowed. 'Yes… I suppose,' he said slowly. 'If you didn't know… he was large enough, to be sure. Though not nearly as shaggy as the Grim is usually depicted. You have probably seen the shape in its Patronus form as well, in Sirius' case. Peter was never capable of the difficult spell.'

Albus exchanged a significant look with Minerva. She had her hands pressed to her mouth, her eyes huge behind their square spectacles. Remus glanced between them in confusion.

'What?' he asked. 'What is it?'

'Harry has been seeing a Grim for months,' Albus said. 'Ever since the summer, since the night he fled the Dursleys into Magnolia Crescent. Severus saw it too… it attacked them in the street. Harry thinks it was in the forest, a few weeks later in some meadow where he was gathering valerian. And it appeared again at the first Quidditch match, in the top row of seats. I thought he was merely implanting the memory of the dog from the street in his mind's eye, conflating images that frightened him. But I rather think, in light of this information…'

'It's been him,' Remus finished in a whisper. 'It's been Sirius, the whole time.'

'Yes,' Albus agreed heavily. 'And, I rather think, we have solved the hole in our extensive wards.'

Remus put his head in his hands. 'I should have come forward sooner,' he groaned into his palms. 'All year… I have been telling myself he was entering the castle another way; that being an Animagus had nothing to do with it. And he knows… he must know. Sirius has always understood me. He gambled that I would hold my tongue; knew that I would not wish to reveal the secret, would not want you to know we had betrayed your trust as children… even now, when I have long since come of age.'

'You should have come forward _years_ ago!' Minerva spat viciously. She had taken her hands from her mouth now, and her lips were so thin they were nearly disappeared. 'How _could_ you be so careless, Remus? Your foolishness might have cost us all – might have cost Harry's life!'

'I know,' Remus said, his shoulders hunched. 'I know, Minerva. There is no forgiveness for what I have done and I would not ask it. If I had not seen Harry tonight… had not been talking to him about Black and warring with my own conscience once again… But I had to tell you, now. I am worried for Harry. He seems to think there is a possibility that Black is not out to kill him. He is torn between blind anger and confusion, wondering why Black has stalled both times that they have –'

'More than that,' Albus added softly. Remus broke off. Both he and Minerva whipped round to stare at him. Albus rested his fingertips beneath his chin, thinking hard.

'If what you have said, and what we have conjectured, is indeed true,' he explained, 'Then Sirius Black has been face to face with Harry more than just the two incidents we have previously considered. I do not know how he has been entering the castle –'

'There is more, headmaster,' Remus interrupted. 'There is something else. A passage – near my chambers. It is through that statue of the one-eyed witch, and leads from the castle into the cellar of Honeydukes. Black is aware of its –'

But Albus held up a hand to forestall the commentary. 'It matters not,' he said. 'There could be five hundred secret passages in and out of this castle, but the ward would block them all, known or unknown. No, I think the Animagus transformation is the key to the puzzle there. Black has been entering in a non-human form, thereby confusing the wards entirely. An ordinary transfiguration could not have accomplished it, but an Animagus form…'

'It would alter the magical signature,' Minerva finished. 'Not entirely, but enough to confuse the ward. It is a fundamental shift in magical anatomy.'

'Precisely,' Albus agreed. 'Now that we are aware of the circumstances, we can take the appropriate measures to counter the breach.'

'Headmaster,' Remus said, turning a devastated face toward him. 'I apologise. I am… I am so sorry that I did not come forward sooner; that I betrayed your trust. I swear I have _not_ had a hand in assisting Black in any way… but I fear my silence may be to blame all the same. And I will understand entirely should you wish for my resignation.'

' _Why_?' Minerva asked, before Albus could respond. 'Why would you hold your tongue so long, Remus?'

The man swallowed hard. 'I… I do not have a good answer,' he admitted. 'I have rationalised it a hundred times over, managed to convince myself my silence was not the cause of Black's ability to enter the school. When we were young it was easier… and even then I had scruples. But they were my friends, and they had done this for me. It was an act of love and trust, and I could not betray that even if it pained my conscience. And then, we were at war. Then James and Lily were dead; Peter was dead; Sirius was imprisoned… and by then it seemed pointless to reveal the secret. I could not bring myself to admit we had betrayed your trust; forgone all the precautions you placed to ensure I could come to school at all. And that has only grown more powerful, that guilt. For you have employed me as an adult, provided me with a supply of the expensive potion that allows me to keep my mind during those horrible transformations. To admit that I'd taken advantage – that we all had betrayed your kindness and your love… I could not stand it. I did not want to watch your face as you learned what a monster I truly have become.'

Albus hesitated a moment, resting his chin on his fingertips. Minerva and Remus were silent.

'Remus,' he said at last, 'I will not pretend that this was not a grave breach of my trust. I will not condone what I think you _know_ was a gamble of the highest order, that easily could have cost Harry or any of our other students their lives.'

Remus seemed to sink down in his chair as the headmaster spoke. Minerva was stiff as stone in hers.

'However,' he went on, 'I do not believe that allowing your resignation would solve anything. We cannot unwind the past, and despite your miscalculations I do not doubt your intentions or your loyalties. And, most importantly, I still feel as I did this summer – that your presence and your skill are assets to the school, our students and our cause.'

'I… thank you, Albus,' Remus muttered quietly. 'I swear – I will do whatever I can to right this situation; whatever you need.'

'Someone needs to tell Harry,' Minerva said, shaking herself a bit in her seat. 'Unless you have already…?'

'No,' said Remus. 'I saw him tonight, for his anti-Dementor lesson. Our conversation was what led me to rethink this… but I did not tell him.'

'I will handle it,' Albus said firmly. 'As for what happens next, I need to think on it. Please do not speak of this to anyone else in the meantime.'

Remus bowed his head in acknowledgement then took to his feet again. He muttered an awkward goodbye, and swept out of the office. Albus stood from his own chair as the door swung shut.

'Animagi,' Minerva said disbelievingly as they climbed the stairs. ' _Three_ unregistered, underage Animagi at Hogwarts… _how_ did we not notice, Albus? And how lucky did they get: unsupervised Animagus training might have had terrible consequences, perhaps even fatal. I would not have thought it possible – particularly in Pettigrew's case.'

'An impressive feat,' Albus agreed, pushing open the door to the grand bedchamber again. 'Not least of which was keeping it from me.'

Minerva huffed.

'And from you, love,' Albus added with a twinkle.

'I suppose it is too late to call for Fudge tonight,' Minerva mused as they climbed back into bed. 'Will you ask him here in the morning, or go to London? It is obviously not a conversation best had over Floo… and I don't know how you will leave Remus out of the telling, but –'

'No,' said Albus quietly. Minerva flipped over to stare at him.

'No what?' she asked, bewildered.

'No, I do not intend to tell Cornelius,' Albus clarified. 'At least… not immediately.'

'Why ever wouldn't you, Albus?' Minerva asked sharply. She pushed herself up against the headboard, her eyes boring into his.

'Because,' Albus answered, 'I am not yet sure of the implications myself.'

'The implications?' Minerva repeated sarcastically. 'Albus, you do realise this means that dog that attacked Severus in Magnolia Crescent was _Black_ , the one who attempted to rip his leg to shreds? He could have killed Harry then, for Merlin's sake. He's been sneaking about the grounds unchecked. And the Dementors… they do not sense animal emotion the way they do human, you know that. He will be a hundred times more difficult to track. You _must_ tell the Minister at once!'

'All true, my dear,' Albus acknowledged. 'But yet… do you not find the pattern strange, now there are more pieces to consider? If Harry's account of Magnolia Crescent is accurate, Black was lurking in the shadows long before Severus' arrival on the scene. He did not injure him; did not even approach until Severus attempted to take Harry away. Harry has seen him in the forest and grounds, without consequence. The only time they encountered each other with Black in his human form, prior to the events of the week-end, Black failed to kill him; did not even attempt it. Harry was injured only by Severus' stray curse. And Black left his wand… that has always puzzled me. He could have taken it, could have turned it on him, while Harry and Severus were both unconscious. But he did not. And then, there was Saturday…'

'Where Harry ended up needing four Blood Replenishing potions!' Minerva hissed. 'We were lucky he did not flay him alive!'

'Were we?' Albus mused. 'I am not so sure… once, perhaps, would be coincidence. But three times, if not more… if Black's intention is to kill Harry, I would say it cannot be his primary goal.'

' _If_ his intention is to kill him?' Minerva repeated doubtfully. ' _If_ Albus? How _can_ there be any other explanation, after what he did to James and Lily?!'

Albus leaned over to douse the candle before he answered. He settled back beneath the crimson blankets, pulling her reluctantly to his side.

'That, my love,' he said quietly at last, 'Is the question I would like to answer before I speak with the Minister.'

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Harry received a note over breakfast on Thursday morning, informing him that he had been excused thirty minutes early from his final lesson of the afternoon – History of Magic. The letter said only that he was to meet Minerva in the entrance hall at that time, and to bring his cloak. Bewildered, Harry tried to catch the professor at Transfiguration to ask the meaning of the missive… but Hermione had to duck into the loo after Arithmancy, cutting their timing too fine with the Time-Turner to speak with McGonagall before the lesson. The mad dash for luncheon at the break waylaid his hopes of catching her at the conclusion.

The Time-Turner, Harry thought, was starting to become a real problem. Ron was highly suspicious of Hermione's full timetable, particularly since they'd all become friendly again and he no longer had Scabbers' plight to distract him in the evenings. He had taken to grilling Harry when they'd finished their own work, coming up with wilder and wilder ideas about how she might be attending her lessons. Harry grunted and mumbled at the right places, but he always felt a squirming in his stomach at these conversations. He did not like keeping the Time-Turner from Ron. Although Ron hadn't yet asked Harry about his own Arithmancy scheduling, Harry knew it was only a matter of time before it clicked with his mate that Harry, too, was hiding something. He was fairly certain Ron would not be happy he'd been left out of the secret.

His worries over Ron, however, were nothing to his mounting concern for Hermione. The stress he'd started to notice around the holidays had only grown worse in the weeks since. Frankly, Hermione was starting to bear a distinct resemblance to Remus. She was pale and peaky looking. Her eyes were dimmer, with dark rings beneath them and a glazed, wild sort of appearance that grew tearful in the late hours of the evening. She snapped at anyone who disturbed her work table in the common room or library. And, twice this week, Harry had caught her swapping out her tea for coffee at breakfast in the Great Hall. He had suggested, rather half-heartedly, that she drop a few subjects to lighten her workload. The resultant glare looked more like a basilisk's stare… and Harry had not raised the idea again.

Now, Hermione was talking about skipping the next Hogsmeade visit this upcoming Saturday, hoping to get a bit more work done while the Tower was quieter. Though Harry would be grateful for the company, he rather thought some time out of doors and away from her books would be a better use of Hermione's Saturday. And after all, even if Hermione left, Harry would always have Neville. Poor Neville was banned from all Hogsmeade week-ends for the foreseeable future.

Beyond his concerns for Hermione, his worries over Ron's suspicions _and_ the interaction with Remus the previous night that was still preying on his mind, Harry was also having to dodge Fred and George in the corridors and Great Hall at regular intervals. The excitement of Sirius Black's break-in had at last started to fade from some of the Gryffindor memories, after so many harrowing retellings… but the result was a renewal of Fred and George's interest in Harry's affections for Cho Chang. Last evening, Fred had offered Angelina Johnson's services so that Harry could practise his chat (to her great displeasure and Katie and Alicia's fits of giggles). This morning, the twins had turned up for breakfast with fistfuls of drafted love letters for Harry's appraisal. And after Charms, George had popped round with the first two stanzas of a poem he thought Harry might like to recite at supper. Everyone else thought it was hilarious… but the ribbing only made Harry both angry and highly uncomfortable. He was eternally grateful Cho Chang was in neither his House nor his form, and therefore hopefully would not get wind of the twins' determined plotting.

By the time he was due to meet Minerva, Harry had nearly forgotten the appointment in the wake of everything else. It wasn't until Hermione elbowed him sharply to shake him from his usual History of Magic stupor and jerked her head toward the clock above the blackboard that Harry realised he was almost late.

He scrambled out of his seat at once, not bothering to take his leave from the oblivious ghost professor as he hurried for the door and dashed down to the entrance hall. He skittered to a halt two feet from Minerva, clutching a stitch in his side. She raised a supercilious eyebrow.

'Cloak?' she prompted. Harry noted she was already wearing hers, in addition to a high, emerald green pointed hat.

'It's in – in here,' Harry gasped out, rummaging in his school bag as he caught his breath.

Minerva tsked, taking the bag from him. She rescued the crumpled cloak and shook it out, running a spell over the fabric to remove the wrinkles. She passed Harry back the cloak and banished the rest of his school things, presumably back to the Tower.

'Come along,' she said once he'd done up the fastenings.

Harry followed obediently as she led them out of the school and down the stone steps.

'Er – where are we going?' he asked as they reached the winding path. He couldn't help but find the situation odd. He had not seen the headmaster once since breakfast, and Minerva's terse note and stiff manner tonight gave him the distinct feeling that something was off. 'Have I done something?'

She turned toward him, giving him a small smile that did not quite reach her eyes. She did not pause in her stride. 'No, you've done nothing wrong,' she assured him. 'We are merely running tight for time, and there is a conversation the headmaster and I need to have with you. We thought we might visit with Aberforth, for a treat. Albus is there already. The curfews still in place in the village make the journey unwise after night has begun to fall.'

Harry glanced around nervously. Already, the sun hung quite low in the sky. He realised now why Minerva had excused him from the end of his final lesson.

'Do not worry,' she added more gently, recognising his unease. 'We shall be flooing for the return journey, but I thought a bit of a walk might do us some good.'

They did not speak much for the remainder of the journey. Harry could tell there was something wrong with Minerva – something she had not yet shared – but he had too much in his own mind to press her about it. Instead, he tried to focus on the prospect of seeing Aberforth and having dinner in the pub, something they had not done together since Boxing Day. Perhaps he could convince the barman to come up to the castle for the Quidditch final… he hadn't yet seen Harry fly, after all. He ought to ask the headmaster to re-invite Bathilda Bagshot too; she had said in October she wanted to come. Perhaps she and Aberforth could sit together, as they were already familiar. The match ought to be a good one, as Gryffindors' victory last week-end put them back in contention for the Cup.

'There he is!'

The barman's booming voice bellowed the greeting before Harry had even pushed the door fully ajar. The pub was empty this evening: Harry suspected Albus had requested the privacy. The headmaster himself was sitting on a stool at a corner of the bar, across from his brother. He stepped gracefully off it as Harry and Minerva entered the room, while Aberforth shuffled around the counter to kiss Minerva on the cheek and clap Harry on the shoulder. Harry noted a half-full glass of some purple liquid on the counter behind… it looked as though Albus had already been visiting for a time.

The barman's greeting was overly cheerful, and he gave none of his usual griping about his brother's high-handed closing down of his pub. Albus' smile – like Minerva's – seemed slightly fixed.

Alarm bells were ringing in Harry's head again.

'Fixed up some Yorkshire pudding for supper,' Aberforth said after he had showed the party toward a booth and fetched a round of drinks.

'My favourite!' said Harry enthusiastically.

Aberforth winked at him. 'So I've heard,' he admitted. He passed out the glasses and bottles. 'Albus has been telling me you played a good match last week-end, boy,' he said to Harry.

Harry grinned, but shrugged modestly. 'The team had a good match,' he said. 'I was thinking – you ought to come up for the final in the spring… if you want to, I mean,' he added quickly. 'Gryffindor versus Slytherin – last match of the season. Might be able to watch us win the Cup if we're lucky.'

'A wonderful idea,' Minerva said approvingly. 'There's always room in our box, Aberforth. We'd love to have you.'

'Do not feel obliged,' Albus put in – but Harry could tell he was jesting.

'And miss watching Snape's face if the boy here beats his House?' Aberforth retorted to his brother in mock horror. 'I wouldn't miss it for a thousand galleons.'

Harry beamed at him. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he saw Minerva and Albus having silent conversation across the table… not unlike the way Ron and Hermione sometimes did when they were scheming about him. His smile faded.

'What?' he asked, looking between the two. 'What is it you wanted to speak with me about?'

Albus looked briefly at Aberforth, who gave him a tiny nod. The barman slipped off his stool. 'I'll just… go and see how that supper's getting on,' he muttered.

He clapped Harry briefly on the shoulder again and shuffled back toward the counter, disappearing through a swinging door into what Harry assumed was a kitchen. When Aberforth's back had gone from view, Albus cleared his throat. Harry spun to face him.

'Harry,' the headmaster began seriously. 'There is something we must tell you…'

Two and a half hours later, as Harry pushed the portrait hole open, he thought he may need to borrow Albus' Pensieve to deal with the onslaught of information and churning thoughts clogging his brain. He ignored the other students in the common room, even Ron and Hermione. He dodged Fred and George as they tried to waylay him at the stairs again. Instead, he climbed up the spiralling steps, pulling his curtains shut and sitting on his bed in the darkness.

 _Sirius Black was the dog… he was the Grim…_

He wasn't even that angry with Remus for not telling him sooner, though he could see Minerva and Albus were annoyed with the professor. He was actually grateful to understand, now, why his father's stag mesmerised the man so deeply. And he respected why Remus had kept the secret – for his friends… out of loyalty. Harry would have done the same for Ron and Hermione. Of course, he knew that the information was vital – that it might help them catch Black. But Remus had not known that Harry had seen the dog. Remus did not know that Harry dreamt about him; that he had _memories_ of Black, playing with him as a child…

He hadn't told the headmaster that part. He had been too stunned and had too many other questions. The Yorkshire pudding he'd so looked forward to had grown cold on his plate as he asked them.

Albus had told him that they would be altering the wards; that Black could not get into the castle again. But he also requested that Harry keep the information about Black's Animagus abilities to himself, for now. He did not yet intend to tell Fudge. The four of them, plus a few of the professors, would be the only ones informed for now. Which meant there was something the headmaster was _not_ telling Harry. He'd tried to needle it out, but Dumbledore would not budge. He merely said that the new development altered things; that he wanted to do some additional investigation before informing the Ministry. He wanted Harry on his guard, in the meantime. But he'd agreed with Harry – he thought there _was_ something odd in Black's behaviour toward him. That there might be more to the man's actions than what they –

'Oi, HARRY!'

Ron's voice was sharp, and loud enough that Harry suspected it was not the first time his name had been called. He jumped, just as his curtains flew open. Ron was frowning down at him through the gap.

'Are you alright, mate?' he asked, scrutinising Harry's face as he widened the gap in the curtains. 'You look odd…'

'I'm fine,' Harry said. He sat up a little straighter against the headboard, wishing more than anything that he could unload his burdens on Ron and Hermione – talk through it all with them. 'Just tired. We hiked all the way into the village tonight, to have supper with Aberforth.'

It was true, if not the whole of it. Ron did not look convinced.

'Not ill? Not dying? Haven't broken your leg? Sprouted smoking purple pox?' he pressed. His tone was not at all joking.

'No,' Harry answered, bewildered as he gave a short chuckle. 'What was that last one?'

'Just wondered,' Ron said with a shrug of his shoulders, 'Because Hermione says you were due at Snape's ten minutes ago, and I don't know why you'd chance an Unforgivable unless you were –'

'Bullocks!' Harry swore, jumping off the bed so quickly Ron had to leap backward out of the way. 'I completely forgot it's Thursday… he's gonna kill me!'

He hurried to shove on his trainers, ignoring Ron's stifled laughter as the latter leaned against his own bed. He grabbed the bag Minerva had helpfully banished to the top of his trunk earlier that evening, shucked the travelling cloak he was still wearing, and hurdled from the room.

'Fifteen minutes, Mr Potter,' Snape spat the moment Harry burst through the dungeon door. 'Thirty points from Gryffindor.'

'But – I, I thought it was a point a minute!' Harry gasped out, pushing his bag onto the work table.

Snape's eyes flashed. 'Fifteen points for your tardiness,' he said silkily. 'And fifteen for my wasted time.'

'That's the same thing,' Harry mumbled, digging out his wand from the pocket of his robes to hand to Snape.

The Potions Master did not hear… or perhaps chose to ignore the comment. He took Harry's wand with his usual glare, flourishing his own at the space in the centre of the room. Those damnable chests reappeared. Harry groaned… he was starting to fantasise about _incinerating_ the stupid things wandlessly, rather than working on his locking abilities.

'Begin,' Snape said, gesturing toward the chests.

Harry scowled, but set to work. He broke his way through the six chests without feeling more than a light sweat. It was getting easier to do this every time, even with the more advanced unlocking charms. The locking, of course, was the trickier part for him. It always was. But tonight, Harry found all that confusion and anger he'd been feeling throughout the week was _not_ affecting him as much as he might expect. Instead, he was finally able to focus the necessary energy, that same heady sense of fire building in him that he'd felt so many months ago in that stone room, when all he'd wanted was to break free and return to the inn.

He locked one, then two… three and four were a bit more difficult, but he managed them in the end. His hand was starting to shake, but Snape was not stopping him yet. Five… and then…

'Finished!' he gasped out, dropping his arm at last. He felt as though he'd run a marathon, but he was thrilled all the same.

Snape pushed him roughly into a chair, passing him the usual potions and a glass of water. Harry downed them all without comment.

'Finally,' Snape growled out, leaning himself against the edge of his own desk. 'You seem to be moving past mediocrity, at long last.'

The tone was insulting… but from Snape, it had almost been a compliment. Harry grinned. 'Guess so,' he quipped back, with just a bit of cheek. His heart was still hammering in his chest. Snape took his wrist as usual, and Harry saw his eyebrows contract as he felt the rapid pulse.

'You are still putting too much into the spell,' Snape criticised. He dropped Harry's arm again and passed him a second phial of potion. ' _Precision_ , Potter. Not brute force. I feel I shall have a need to engrave the words on your tombstone.'

Harry scowled. 'At least I _did_ it,' he countered bitterly. 'And I thought I wouldn't be able to, tonight. Not after finding out about Black and all.'

Snape stiffened, as he so often did when Sirius Black's name was mentioned in his presence. His glare intensified. 'Finding out what about Black, Potter?' he asked sharply.

Harry shuddered, forcing down the draught. He passed the empty phial back to the Potions Master. 'Just the Animagus thing,' he said, feeling a bit loopy from the second dose. 'Albus says I can't tell the others… not yet. I suppose it should scare me, and it does… but I'm also just glad that the Grim wasn't the Grim after all, you know? Stupid, I suppose. Sort of still an omen of death too, I –'

He broke off, looking at Snape. The professor was frozen, his hand still inches from Harry's with the empty phial clutched in white fingers. He wasn't even glaring. His eyes were glazed over, like he'd been hit with a spell.

'Sorry, sir,' said Harry quickly. 'I guess I shouldn't have brought it up. You're probably angrier than even Minerva was, the way he attacked you in the street like that.'

There was a tinkling of broken glass. Snape had dropped the phial. Before Harry could even register this, however, Snape's hands were gripping both his shoulders – hard. The professor began to shake him so roughly he could feel his teeth rattle. He made a noise of protest that Snape did not acknowledge.

'Who?' Snape demanded in a low hiss. 'Explain what you are talking about this instant, Potter!'

'Let go of me and I will!' Harry retorted, truly frightened as the man's fingers dug into his arms.

Snape stopped shaking him, but he did not release his hold. Harry stared up into his fathomless eyes, both angry and confused.

'I didn't mean anything by it,' he said defensively. 'I wasn't having a go, or anything, sir. I just… Albus and Minerva only told me this evening, about Sirius Black being an Animagus. Albus says he won't tell Fudge yet, but I figured –'

'BLACK'S _WHAT_!?' Snape bellowed.

With his face so close to Harry's, spittle flecked on his glasses from the words. Harry cringed. 'I… didn't you know, sir?' he asked, a horrible weight sinking in his stomach.

Snape released him at last. He stepped back, looking murderous.

'You are dismissed, Potter,' he ground out. He swept over to the door, flinging it ajar and pointing a finger into the hall. 'Get out.'

Harry did not need telling twice. He scrambled out of the chair at once, swiping his bag off the floor and hurrying through the door.

He could hear the rush of the Floo even before it finished slamming shut behind him.

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'ALBUS!'

Severus threw himself out of the headmaster's fireplace, not even bothering to check the office was otherwise unoccupied before he let his rage full reign. The headmaster, luckily, was quite alone – seated at his ornate desk and perusing the _Evening Prophet_. He glanced over the top of the page with a mildly curious expression that served only to infuriate Severus further.

'Good evening, my dear boy,' Albus greeted lightly. He set the newspaper aside, motioning with one hand toward the opposite chair.

Severus ignored the invitation, as he was sure Albus knew he would.

'HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME?' he spat, striding toward the desk.

He slammed a palm on the surface hard enough to draw a tittering of protests from the portraits on the wall. Albus sighed, still the epitome of serenity. He held up a hand to silence the painted commentary.

'Severus, please sit.'

'I will NOT, Albus!' he snarled. 'How long have you known, then? HOW did you know? And how on EARTH have you not informed the staff, the students and the Ministry? I have to find out from _POTTER_ , like some gossiping dunderhead sharing stolen butterbeer?!'

'Severus, please,' Albus said, standing as well. 'I have known but less than a day. And I had planned to tell you this evening, after your lesson with Harry had concluded. It would seem he has beat me to the news.'

'An ANIMAGUS?!' Severus bellowed. He was still caught between blind anger and disbelief. 'HOW, Albus, without yours or Minerva's help? Black was neither patient nor intelligent enough for that sort of –'

'Now, though the former may be accurate, you know the latter is not,' Dumbledore disagreed. 'You and he were skilled in different areas, it is true. But Black was not untalented in the slightest. And you know the information must be true: black dogs have appeared quite often since July, have they not?'

Severus snorted derisively. 'How did you not know before?' he pressed instead. 'Are you telling me he taught _himself_ the transformation, without an instructor? Because I know for certain there were no learned Animagi in the Dark Lord's circle who could have taught him the skill…'

'He was self-taught,' Albus confirmed. 'He, and James Potter and Peter Pettigrew, apparently. They were all Animagi by their fifth year at Hogwarts.'

' _Potter_ was a –' Severus began hotly. But he paused as the realisation sank in…

'THE WOLF TOLD YOU!' he accused, voice raising again. 'The WOLF! How long have I been saying not to trust him, headmaster? HOW LONG?! He hides this information, steals Black into the castle… and you sit here and act as though –'

'Enough, Severus!' the headmaster said. For the first time, there was a steeliness in his voice. 'Do not suggest, _ever_ , that I do not place the safety of my students and my school above all else. Remus has not been helping Black enter this castle, though I freely admit he unwisely kept the secret of his friends' abilities until this past evening.'

'And why tell you now, Albus?' Severus challenged. It was difficult to keep his voice below screaming. 'If he was _not_ aiding the murderous traitor, why keep his silence for so many months? Perhaps he thought he had no choice but to reveal as much, after the break-in on Saturday. Perhaps he grew anxious you would be too suspicious… that he must offer something, before you came to the conclusion on your own in researching the possible failings of the wards…'

'I trust Remus Lupin as I trust you, Severus,' the headmaster said. 'And the _both_ of you have done things, in the past, for which I have extended my understanding and my forgiveness.'

Severus ground his teeth. He knew it was a losing battle, arguing the point with the headmaster… but he was fighting the impulse to pound the wolf's door down and curse him into oblivion all the same.

'Sit,' Albus said again. There was less option in the request, this time.

Severus threw himself into the proffered chair with ill grace. The headmaster summoned two glasses of Ogden's finest, pushing one into his hand. Severus swallowed half in one pull.

'Potter says you are not informing the Ministry,' he noted when the whisky had finished burning down his throat.

'Not at the moment,' Albus confirmed.

'Why?' Severus demanded. 'While I am happy to lead the hunt for Black's hide myself, it seems less than prudent to leave the rest of the Wizarding World in peril.' A horrible thought occurred to him, and he narrowed his gaze. 'Or are you worried you will not be able to protect _Lupin_ from the backlash?' he accused.

Albus' blue eyes flashed. 'If I thought informing Cornelius was the best thing to do,' he assured the professor, 'I would floo him immediately. However, there are pieces to this story which trouble me – parts that do not make sense. I wish to take the time to consider all the options before I involve the Ministry.'

'Options?' Severus repeated. There was a growing bile in his stomach that was quite unconnected with the whisky. 'What _options_ , Albus?'

'I am… uncertain whether Black's true intentions are to murder Harry,' Albus said calmly. 'The evidence does not line up.'

'The _evidence_?' Severus parroted again in disbelief. 'Are you speaking of the time Black ripped _my_ leg open trying to reach Potter in the street? The time he disarmed him in the Forest and would have _killed_ him if I had not arrived? The day he slashed the portrait of the Fat Lady to shreds, perhaps? Or Saturday last, when he nearly slit the boy's throat as he slept?!'

'On the surface, all highly incriminating actions,' Albus agreed. 'And yet the odd delays in a fatal attack are as consistent as anything in the various encounters.'

The bile exploded.

'You _cannot_ be saying, headmaster,' Severus spat viciously, 'That you believe there is even the most _remote_ possibility that Sirius Black is an innocent man?!'

Albus touched the wood of his desk, not answering as he sipped at his whisky. Severus' grip was so hard on his own glass that he was fleetingly surprised it had not shattered. Perhaps the headmaster's crystal was spelled with Unbreakable Charms.

'I am not entirely sure what I think, Severus,' the old man said quietly. 'It does not seem likely… and yet, I cannot help but notice there have been too many failed opportunities for coincidence, now we know that Black has been close to Harry far more often than we had originally believed. I have been told that coincidence very rarely occurs in nature.'

Severus scoffed. 'Potter is Man of the Match in the Gryffindor contest for close shaves with death,' he sneered.

'Perhaps,' Albus agreed with a small, infuriating smile. 'But I wish to think on the matter for a bit longer before informing _anyone_ else, Severus, all the same.'

'You are being played – fooled yet again, headmaster!' he said desperately, slamming the drink down on the desk between them. His hand was splashed in amber liquid and he heard an ominous crack.

He supposed there were no charms after all.

'Black pulled this same stunt twelve years ago!' he continued. 'He played the loyal lapdog, danced to the tune of your pipe, Albus. He lulled you all into contentment, made you feel you could trust him… and then he killed his two best friends _and_ Lily. Whether the wolf is in on it now or not I do not know… but _this_ is what Black would want you to do – to doubt in his treachery; to believe he is Good, and Light. And why not?' he challenged with a murderous glare. 'It has been working his whole life, after all. Playing the part of the Gryffindor… counting on _your_ forgiveness and your trust… hoping you will save him from the punishment that HE IS DUE!'

'Severus, that is enough!' the headmaster insisted. He was standing again now, his eyes blazing behind their spectacles.

Severus did not sit, backing away from the desk with his fury still smarting. He strode back for the fireplace and helped himself to a fistful of the headmaster's floo powder. He did not trust himself not to curse the first person he encountered in the corridors, should he take the stairs.

'I will keep the silence you've asked of me,' he said tersely as he withdrew a sparkling fist, 'I will toe the line, and I will obey. But _I_ will not be fooled, headmaster. I will _not_ let him get away with this…'

'Severus, be rational,' Albus said in a softer tone. 'I have already updated the wards on the castle. We will take no chances, no matter what. I am not suggesting Black is innocent; I am merely pointing out that there are things to consider. Facts I _wish_ to consider before involving the Ministry.'

Severus threw the powder into the flames.

'Consider what you will, Albus,' he said shortly. 'But do not imagine that the rest of us share your scruples in killing Sirius Black.'

He stepped into the flames before the headmaster could reply, vanishing back up the chimney.

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Spring had come to the forest. It wasn't yet warm… but the closer April drew the greener the trees became. Sirius watched the birth of new life with apathy. It had been more than six weeks now. Six weeks since his near disastrous excursion into Gryffindor Tower. Six weeks, and he was no closer to the Rat.

He knew from the cat that Peter had fled. Faked his death as he had before. A clever trick, if a signature one. He was in the wind… yet Sirius did not leave the outskirts of the castle grounds. He knew the Rat would not go far. He could not. He was safest close to Dumbledore: hiding in the shadows of the Dementors and the teachers… even with Sirius on the prowl. Peter had never been brave. He was never truly a Gryffindor. And he had nowhere else to go, now. His mother had died several years ago. Sirius had heard it over a Wizarding Wireless through Hagrid's window one night. Died of a broken heart, they'd said. Finding another wizarding family was no good, while Sirius was still hunting him. Peter was not made for the street life, and he would not last a week among the creatures of the forest. No… Wormtail would want to be where he could keep an ear out. And he would want to be close to Harry; would want the opportunity to ingratiate himself to the Dark side again, if he knew they would protect him. Harry was his only chance to do that. Hogwarts was his only chance.

Plus, the cat had scented him more than once in the grass and in the corridors of the school. He was here, skulking about like a phantom. Capable of taking Harry – killing him, or running with him. Taking him to Voldemort. And Sirius was out of ideas.

He was so lost in his musings that he did not sense the new arrival's approach… until a crack of a twig gave his position away.

Startled from his musings, Sirius jerked his head off the ground. He tensed, wondering whether to flee or stay hidden in his hollow as he gazed about for the source of the disturbance. The forest was gleaming with the smattering of setting sunlight through the trees, but Sirius could see neither being nor creature standing where the twig had broken. He half rose to his feet, the prickling on his spine intensifying… then froze as a muttered spell reached his ears.

A hand appeared out of nothingness, sweeping down from more than six feet off the ground. The Disillusionment spell was lifted, and Sirius' heart jumped to his throat; all thoughts of running for escape dispelled as completely as his visitor's charm.

The man's eyes were locked with his, and there was recognition and finality in the gaze.

'I have been searching for you every evening, for more than a month,' the man said. 'It is rather a larger forest than I remembered. But of course, I suspect you know it better even than myself. It is hardly surprising it would take me this long to track you without magical aide. And I did not wish to set off any alarms.'

He drew his wand as his spoke, fingering the intricate handle. Sirius' eyes flicked to the weapon for the briefest of moments, then back to the man's face. He took a half-crouched step back.

'There is no point in running,' the man said lightly. 'I could stop you, of course, if you force me to do so… but I would regret the action. I did not come tonight with the intention of cursing you.'

Sirius stopped his retreat. The man, on the other hand, took several long, slow strides toward him.

'I would ask that you resume your usual form,' the man said politely. 'It is rather difficult to carry on a conversation with a dog, and I dare say there is much we must say to one another, Sirius.'

Sirius stared for several more seconds into the man's face. Quite possibly the most dangerous man in the world. Then he bowed his head, letting the transformation take him. When he opened his eyes again, the distance to those blue eyes was mere inches.

'Dumbledore,' he breathed out in a rasp.

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 35**

 **BlueWater5** : Thank you for your review! Glad you approve of Remus' confession. Yes, I agree it's about time he came clean… and that confession will have numerous repercussions now. And Harry isn't letting him off scot-free with the reprimand here, he's definitely miffed that Remus is playing a bit of a double standard here. Remus, like all of our characters, is flawed. And though much of this chapter is from his point of view, it would be (as I pointed out a few weeks back on my profile page), a mistake to think that just because something is stated in his POV section it is necessarily true on its face. I think you're right to point out here that though his goal may be to protect Harry, his own varying interests have presented obstacles to that protection. It is a flaw which Pettigrew has exploited, among others. And I think Remus is just now beginning to sort of see that.

Enjoy Chapter 36!

 **Sopnew** : Thanks for the review and the well wishes! They are incredible, it's such a joy to get to be with them. James has taken off a fortnight as well… so I am sure I'll feel a bit differently when I'm on my own for four weeks until nanny arrives! :) No more mums though, so that's a treat. Anyway, glad you enjoyed the chapter! Remus is a fun character, so it was nice to be in his head for a bit instead of our usual suspects. I hope you like Chapter 36!

 **Belial666** : Thanks for reviewing! Yes, as I stated to another reviewer above and on my profile page, it would certainly be a mistake to take any one character's POV as the 'truth' in any measure but that which the particular character might believe. Here, as you correctly noted, Remus is not _entirely_ correct on his musing to Harry about who can and who cannot cast a Patronus. Although he _is_ correct that Death Eaters cannot cast it – with the exception of Snape, who's loyalties are obviously different and who's casting of a Patronus we will explore in more detail later in the series. That bit is per JKR herself. As to the ability of other… shall we say not 'light' wizards to cast the spell… it's not quite as black and white as Remus painted here. We will revisit the issue later in the books.

Hope you like Chapter 36!

 **AlsoKnownAsMatt** : Thank you for the review and the well wishes! It was a monumental journey, but it's lovely to have reached the other side at last. I'm happy to hear you liked the flashback… it's a scene I've wanted to explore for a while, though I didn't decide until quite late to slip it in here. It felt like a good moment to explore the extent of Remus' inner turmoil; and I hope that the 1981 scenes brought across the utter broken man that he became in the wake of all that happened. The map scene… glad you liked the changes to canon here. I agree that Harry gets off a bit easy; but of course, there were longer-goal reasons why Dumbledore could not be made aware of the map at this time, though perhaps that would have been the wiser move from a strictly disciplinarian side. Remus tries to walk a bit of a line between kindly uncle and professor in Harry's life, and at times that line can become a bit blurred.

Hope you enjoy Chapter 36!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for your review! Yes… the cat's among the pixies now, as they say. Remus has caved to his conscience. We'll get the details of what exactly he reveals to the headmaster in this next chapter… but the _really_ interesting question is: what will _Dumbledore_ do now?

Hope you like the next chapter!

 **SailorMartin3** : Thank you! I hope you are enjoying the story!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for your review! Yes, the secret is out now… what will Dumbledore do? We shall see… just a few more chapters to go, now. Hope you enjoy the continuation!

 **Guest** : Thank you! Glad you are enjoying the story and I hope you like the new instalment!

 **Jasper's Mom** : Thank you! Seven has always been my lucky number, so I am quite excited there are so many sevens associated with the twins' birthdays! :) It's odd how sometimes things just work out like that. Yes, poor Harry lost the map – which is probably a good thing, from an adult perspective… I hope you like Chapter 36!


	37. Padfoot's Tale

**A/N:** We are chipping away at the end of our story now… buckle up, it's going to be a perilous journey! Babies enjoy waking in the middle of the night, however… so luckily for you I am bright-eyed and set to post, 4:45 a.m. though it may be. This chapter is actually a bit ahead of schedule, so it is possible we will get another before end of week-end! I initially expected Chapter 40 would be the concluding instalment for Part II… but now I think perhaps there will be 42 in total. Either way, not much farther left to go!

Enjoy 'Padfoot's Tale'! Please remember to **read and review**! My responses are at the end, as usual.

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **Chapter 37: Padfoot's Tale**

Sirius Black was changed.

Albus remembered the wizard as a handsome young man, full of a youthful exuberance infectious to all those around him. But the creature who stood before him now bore only a passing resemblance to the boy he had watched grow up; the man he had once admired. His hair was elbow-length, matted and wild, with bits of the forest clinging to the strands. He wore tattered robes that were faded with time and travel. His skin was unhealthily pasty, his strong muscles disintegrated into skeletal physique. Only the grey eyes seemed familiar… and even they were haunted. These were not the eyes of a mischievous youth. These… these were eyes Albus recognised from other men. Eyes that had seen Death – and knew there was much worse out there.

'Dumbledore,' the man rasped out. His voice, like the rest of him, was hardly a shadow of the wizard he had been.

'Sirius,' Albus greeted him back. He gave a short inclination of his head, his expression neutral as he could make it. 'It has been many years.'

Sirius swallowed hard. 'Too many,' he agreed darkly. 'Though… I suppose you do not think so.'

Albus stared closely at him. 'There is much to discuss,' he allowed enigmatically. 'Much to consider. But on the whole, Sirius, I expect you must have quite a story to tell. Your actions do not comport with those of an innocent man… and yet your presence here tonight assures me that you must be.'

Sirius cocked his head, almost doglike. He frowned. 'I am…' he said slowly. 'But, how could you know that, Dumbledore? I was expecting to meet the Dementors as soon as you led me from the forest tonight.'

Albus twinkled at him, smiling just a fraction. 'The forest harbours only the innocent, Sirius,' he said. 'There is magic in these trees. Dark wizards may pass through them, but those who seek shelter; stay with any permanence… the Forest allows only the pure of heart.'

Sirius gave a half smile himself. It did not quite reach his eyes, but for the first time Albus could see the hint of the man he had known in this stranger's face. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Albus held up a hand to forestall him.

'Not here,' he said softly. 'Even the magic of this place will not protect from all prying eyes or ears.'

Sirius frowned again. 'But… where, Albus? I cannot be seen – even with you…'

'I have thought of that, my boy,' Albus assured him. He chanted a singsong phrase and clapped his hands in the air. With a burst of fire and song, Fawkes appeared above him, circling their little clearing in a swirl of scarlet and gold. Sirius smiled at the familiar bird as Fawkes settled on Albus' shoulder.

'He shall transport us directly to my study,' Albus informed the man, stroking the phoenix's head. 'If you would take my hand?'

He offered his left out to the bedraggled wizard, lodging the right in Fawkes' tail feathers. Sirius hesitated just a fraction before reaching out to clasp the headmaster's hand. His grip was ice-cold and calloused.

'Ready?' Albus asked. Sirius nodded, and Albus inclined his head to the phoenix. Fawkes gave one final trill and they vanished in a flash of light.

When they reappeared in the centre of the circular study, Albus released both Black and the bird at once. He swept up toward his desk. Sirius followed, looking around tentatively. Albus gestured at the chair across and the man sat, right on the edge as though expecting he would have to vacate it in great haste.

Albus settled into his own before he spoke. 'Tell me,' he said at last, 'Why is it that you have come to the Hogwarts grounds?'

Sirius stared directly into his eyes as he answered. 'To kill Peter Pettigrew,' he said bluntly.

Albus blinked. It was not the answer he had been expecting. 'Did you not succeed in that mission twelve years ago?'

Sirius grimaced, biting back what Albus was sure would have been an oath. 'No,' he answered shortly. 'I meant to… but the snivelling little rat bested me. For the first and _only_ time in his worthless life. But it was _my_ fault, Albus! If it weren't for me, he never could have… if it weren't for me, he would not have been able to betray them at all. Harry would not be in such danger. James and Lily would not be…. Would not be…'

Albus sighed. 'Sirius,' he said seriously. 'You are going to need to back up in your explanation, I fear. I do not understand.'

Sirius opened his mouth again, but then he paused. He looked around the office instead.

'What is it?' Albus asked. Sirius spun back to face him.

'Do… do you still have that basin?' he asked. 'That Pensieve?'

Albus nodded slowly.

Sirius relaxed a fraction. 'I can show you then,' he said. 'You can see for yourself… see what happened, when we placed the Fidelius Charm. And you will understand…'

The headmaster rose from his desk, retrieving the stone basin from its usual cupboard. He set it carefully down on the desk between them.

'Will you do it?' Sirius asked quietly, leaning forward so his head was closer to the Pensieve. 'I… I do not have a wand.'

Albus nodded for a third time. He drew his own wand from the folds of his robes, holding the tip against Sirius' temple. 'Think of whatever it is you wish to share,' he instructed quietly. Sirius closed his eyes. After a moment, he nodded.

Albus withdrew the tip of his wand slowly, watching the strands of silver gossamer pulling away. He lowered the memory carefully into the stone basin, where it shimmered and swirled. When he looked up, Sirius was watching him.

'Together,' the headmaster said. The man nodded.

And, in unison, they took the plunge.

 _They were standing in the Potters' familiar sitting room. Lily was bouncing Harry on her hip, whispering in his ear. The baby was having a wobbly. James stood at the fireplace, gipping the mantel hard with one hand while the other fingered his wand._

 _Sirius stood before them – the familiar Sirius, like Albus remembered. He was dressed in a long travelling cloak, wet on the shoulders from the gale outdoors. The storm was pounding against the windowpanes, wind and leaves mixing with the heavy downpour. Darby, in his favourite perch by the glass, had his hair on end watching the torrents against the glass. Albus suspected the thunder was causing Harry to cry._

 _'Lily, can you take him in the kitchen for a moment?' James asked, unusually short-tempered. Lily shot him a look of surprise but obeyed without comment, striding backward through the swinging door still cooing at her son. The baby's cries muffled slightly as the door swung shut behind them. James ran a hand over his forehead._

 _'Say it again?' he asked Sirius in a low, tense voice._

 _'They killed them, James,' Sirius answered. His face was white, his mouth strained. 'Everyone in the house. Dorcas, they're saying, was killed by Voldemort himself. She wasn't even recognisable when we arrived to sort out the… clean things up,' he amended, swallowing hard. 'Her husband, their children – all dead. The daughters…'_

 _He swallowed hard again, and even in the memory Albus felt ill. He remembered the Meadowes' murders… remembered what they'd done to her two daughters, one eighteen and just out of Hogwarts, the other only ten. The son too had died, but at least he'd been blessed enough to be born a male._

 _James gave an animalistic sound somewhere between a growl and a snarl. 'He won't let us out anymore,' he told Sirius in frustration, slamming a hand on the marble. 'Dumbledore… he doesn't think we can risk it, even for the Order. And he's still got my cloak…'_

 _'What?' Sirius asked in bemusement. 'Thought he took that back in July?'_

 _'Yeah,' James agreed. 'But he says he's still looking into it. I think maybe he's just afraid I'll sneak off it he gives it back.'_

 _Albus, watching the scene, felt a guilty squirm in his stomach._

 _'Prongs… you, Lils and Harry need to stay hidden. You know that. You need to survive. Things are really bad out there…'_

 _'Don't you think I know that? While we're stuck here – the others are dying!' James spat viciously. 'They're picking us off one by one! What good will_ any _of it be, if there's nothing to survive_ TO _?!'_

 _'I know,' Sirius said heavily. 'But mate, you have Harry to think about now. Do you want to expose him to what's waiting out there?'_

 _'Of course I don't,' James said angrily. He growled again, gripping his untidy hair._

 _Sirius glanced toward the kitchen. The sounds of Harry's crying had died completely now._

 _'Listen… I've been thinking,' he said in a low voice. 'Dorcas – she was one of the best, James. She and Anthony both. They had wards all over that house… and he still got them, in the end.'_

 _James stilled, his gaze calculating. And Albus knew what was coming next…_

 _'It is dangerous,' James said. 'For you, more than anyone. Are you certain it is a risk you are willing to take?'_

 _Sirius looked him straight in the face, his grey eyes blazing. 'I would die for any of you, James,' he told him seriously. 'But… I have a better plan. A safer idea.'_

 _'You think we should use Dumbledore?'_

 _Lily had re-entered the room, unnoticed by the men. Both turned to face her at once._

 _'He's asleep,' Lily said, answering her husband's unspoken question. She turned her gaze back to Sirius. 'Albus?' she asked again. 'He offered, a few weeks ago. James told him you'd agreed to do it when we needed someone, but he said he'd be willing to help. We could send a message tonight and –'_

 _'No,' Sirius said, shaking his head. 'Not Albus. He has enough on his plate. I think we should_ tell _everyone it's me. They'll expect it, anyway. The Death Eaters will come for me… and I'll be ready. I'll go into hiding like we talked about. I'll make it seem legitimate, make them all think if they can get to me they can get to you… James can give the Secret to Albus and the others you want to visit – nobody needs to know who the external Secret-Keeper is.'_

 _James' brow was furrowed. 'But_ who _, Sirius, if not you? You'd rather we used Remus, or –'_

 _'No,' said Sirius again. He chewed at his lip, looking guilty. 'I… I think Dumbledore's right. Whoever has been slipping Voldemort information, its someone close to everything – close to you. We all know Remus has never had the easiest lot…'_

 _'Sirius!' Lily protested hotly. 'How can you even –'_

 _'I don't_ want _to, Lils!' Sirius pleaded, palms raised. 'Of course I don't want to believe it's Remus! But think about it… he makes the most sense. We can't_ trust _anyone, don't you see? And even supposing it_ hasn't _been him, he's out there as much as I am, fighting them. If we hide him too, it'll be obvious. They'll know something's going on.'_

 _'So who, then?' James demanded._

 _'Peter.'_

 _There was a moment of stunned silence. James and Lily exchanged glances. Albus shot his own at the emaciated version of Sirius Black beside him. Tears ran silently down his cheeks, his face a picture of anguish as he watched the past unfold._

 _'Peter?' James repeated with a hint of doubt. 'Sirius… don't you think he's a bit… well, is he really up to something like this? Does he have the backbone for it?'_

 _'But that's why it's perfect!' Sirius said excitedly. 'Nobody would ever expect it! They'll think it's got to be me – they'll come after me… and the Order can ambush them when they do. Take out as many as we've lost these past few months. Wormtail – he's never in the thick of things, is he? Doesn't have the stamina. We don't even have to hide him, unless he begs for it… None of them will go for him, he's not enough of a threat on his own,' he added honestly. 'And you know him, James. He'll jump at the chance to be useful. He'll probably think it a great honour.'_

 _'I don't know…' Lily said. She wrung her hands fretfully. 'Wouldn't Albus be a better choice?'_

 _But James was still staring at Sirius. His hazel eyes were unfathomably, but his jaw was working as he thought it through._

 _'I think…' he said slowly, 'This just_ might _work.' He turned to look at his wife. 'We've taken so much help from Albus already, Lils,' he reminded her. 'He's got a war to fight, and we can be of no assistance at the moment. I don't want to add to his plate. Peter… he can do this. I know he can.'_

 _Their eyes locked for a moment. Lily gave a short, resolute nod._

 _'Fine,' she agreed. 'Let's call him then. We should do it tonight.'_

 _Sirius let out a whoop of delight at his successful persuasion, and chatted excitedly with James while Lily stuck her head in the hearth. A few minutes later, short, plump Peter Pettigrew spun into the run, coughing ash out of his throat and wiping at his tiny eyes._

 _'You're sure?' James asked, when the new arrival had caught his breath._

 _Pettigrew looked pale and slightly nauseated, but he nodded all the same. 'I can do this, Jamie,' he said in a squeaky voice. 'I_ want _to do this. For you and Lily and… and the baby.'_

 _Sirius clapped him on the back. 'Good show, mate,' he said approvingly. 'Lils, all set to go?'_

 _Lily smiled. She withdrew her wand from her right sleeve, gesturing James and Peter forward._

 _The Sirius of the past grinned as he watched the ritual take place._

 _The Sirius of the present sobbed openly at the headmaster's side._

 _And Albus watched with a heavy heart, as the Potters imparted their greatest secret to the Traitor who would hand them to Death._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sirius lost his balance as they landed back on the headmaster's office floor. Albus' arms steadied him automatically, his agility beguiling when compared with his age.

'Please, sit,' Dumbledore said kindly. He pulled him gently toward a sofa, patterned differently than the one Sirius remembered from more than a decade ago. He sank onto it with a pang of distant guilt: he was far too filthy to sit on nice things.

'I shall call for some tea,' the headmaster offered.

He could have summoned it, Sirius knew. Or just as easily snapped his fingers for an elf. But Albus used the hearth instead, and Sirius recognised that he had done so to give the mess of a man before him a few moments to pull himself together; some time to compose his mind. He was grateful.

'Thank you,' he murmured, when Albus passed him a steaming cup a few minutes later. He sipped at the brew with relish – he had missed tea.

'Tell me what happened next, Sirius,' Albus requested after a moment.

Sirius set the cup on its saucer, staring into the dregs as he spoke.

'Barely a week after that night, it happened,' he said. He felt calm, almost numb, even through his anger. He wondered if Albus had altered the tea. 'I was supposed to check on him that evening, we'd arranged it days before. When I arrived, his house was empty. I could tell something was wrong… he'd left supper on the counter, untouched. There was no note, but no signs of a struggle. I left to check on James and Lily immediately. Hagrid… Hagrid was there, when I got to Godric's Hollow.'

'I sent him,' Albus said quietly, confirming what Sirius had already known. 'To see to Harry.'

'He told me,' Sirius recalled. 'The house was… well, you know what happened. James and Lily were just lying there, dead in the rubble. I knew what Peter must have done. We all knew how the enchantment worked. He had betrayed them – betrayed all of us… willingly handed his best friends and their son to Voldemort.' He took another shaky sip, trying to calm his temper. 'I asked Hagrid to give Harry to me but he would not. He told me you had said he had to go to his aunt in Surrey. I didn't realise, not then… but you must have thought already I had betrayed them.'

'I did,' Albus admitted. 'But Sirius, I would have sent Harry to his relations anyway. Lily's death – her sacrifice gave him protection. He could not be harmed as long as he was in Petunia's care.'

Sirius shrugged his shoulder irritably. 'She's an awful woman, Albus,' he told him, looking into the headmaster's face for the first time since he had begun the recollection. 'They both are. Lily would not have approved. Harry… Harry was meant to be with _me_.'

'Yes,' Albus agreed. 'They are horrible.' Something flashed behind his eyes, but Sirius could not discern what it was. He frowned, and the headmaster sighed. 'There is more to be said on that score,' he admitted. 'But now is not the moment. Please, continue.'

'I gave Hagrid my motorbike,' he said, leaving the curious comment for now. 'I told him to use it to get Harry away.'

'I remember,' the headmaster recounted. 'He arrived on Privet Drive astride it.'

Sirius smiled. 'At least it did its job then,' he said sadly. 'I… I failed in mine. I left to track Peter, to find where he'd run to when his true Master fell. It took me less than a day; Peter has never been a particularly inventive man. I found him in Ulster, not far from his mother's home. I took a ward stone from the Potters' house – one of the backups we had not yet activated. When I found the traitor, I threw the stone into the street to trap him: created an Anti-Apparition field. I spelled a barrier that would not let the onlookers in… But it did not matter…'

'The Muggles,' Albus prompted when Sirius had drifted into silence again. 'There were a dozen killed in that street, Sirius. Almost twenty Ministry officials gave sworn testimony that you cursed the whole block. How did they die, if not at your hand?'

'Peter,' Sirius spat angrily. 'I was out of my mind with rage and grief. I did not suspect his scheme… until it was far too late. I saw him for the Rat he truly was, whimpering and scraping against the gutter… begging me not to kill him. I raised my wand to do it, and he shouted for the street to hear that _I_ had betrayed Lily and James. That _I_ had been their killer. The Ministry had started arriving by then – they heard him. I was so startled, I did not realise what he intended until it had happened. He blew the street apart with his wand behind his back, severing his own finger with the curse. He transformed as the explosion went off and disappeared into the sewer with his brethren vermin.'

'His finger…' Albus repeated. Sirius looked up again, and knew the headmaster could see the brilliance and the horror in the scheme – just as he could.

'Yes,' Sirius confirmed. 'The Ministry took me then, as I'm sure you remember. They brought me directly to the prison, before I could even get my head straight again. By the time I was lucid enough to protest, there was no one left to shout to. I thought there would be a trial, eventually… but days passed, then weeks, and there was nothing. Eventually, I no longer cared. I did not wish to be spared, anyway. _I_ had suggested Peter as the Secret-Keeper… and I was as much to blame for their deaths as Voldemort himself.'

'You were not,' Albus disagreed quietly. He placed a hand on Sirius' shoulder, squeezing hard. 'You were _not_ to blame for what happened,' he repeated. 'None of us suspected Peter Pettigrew… not even myself. An oversight which cost all of us dearly, and a fool's mistake I should not have made. The lowly, the forgotten, even the untalented… they can do as much damage as the most formidable sorcerer.'

He squeezed Sirius' shoulder once more before leaning back into his own seat again. 'And I am afraid Bartemius Crouch sent many to the Dementors without trial, in the days when he ran MLE. It was not uncommon at the end, particularly after Voldemort's downfall and the capture of many suspected Death Eaters. He decreed that hearing evidence _in absentia_ was enough, where that evidence was overwhelming. More efficient, in their view. I protested the decision, but I am afraid the majority of the Wizengamot agreed with Bartemius' point of view.'

'I know,' Sirius said bitterly. 'I heard – from some of the others down in that foul place. Before they went quiet, they cursed him in the night…' He paused, feeling ill at the recollection. 'He got his comeuppance though, didn't he? I saw them lead his boy to his cell, not long after I arrived. Saw Barty and his wisp of a wife too, a year or so later. The son died in there.'

'Yes,' Albus confirmed heavily. 'As did Barty's wife, not long thereafter. He has had an unhappy existence these past twelve years.'

Sirius wanted to say he deserved it… but, somehow, he found he could not. He knew too much of the bitter loneliness a pile of dead loved ones left in its wake… and he did not wish that on even the power-grasping, brutal Bartemius Crouch.

'But how did you escape?' Albus asked, drawing Sirius back to the present. 'And why, after so many long years?'

In answer, Sirius placed his tea aside and reached into the tattered pocket of his robes. He pulled out that miraculous newspaper cutting – the one he'd kept on him all these months. It was yellowed and smudged with obsession, the elements, and its journey through the sea… but the picture was still discernible. He passed the parchment to Dumbledore, who frowned down at it in puzzlement.

'Look at the boy,' Sirius said, nodding at the picture. 'The youngest one. His shoulder…'

Albus scrutinised the photograph through his half-moon spectacles. After a moment, he looked up sharply at Sirius' face again. ' _This_ is Peter Pettigrew?' he asked, indicating the rat with a long finger.

Sirius nodded slowly. 'The article… it said the boy would be returning to Hogwarts. To where Harry was. And I couldn't stay in that cell – not when I was the only one who knew the truth. I couldn't let the Rat near my godson, when I knew he would kill him and run for it at the slightest sign that the Dark side was gathering force yet again. The information was what I needed – the catalyst that gave me the strength to attempt an escape. I slipped past the guards and out of the prison in my Animagus form: the Dementors cannot sense animal emotion nearly as well as they can human. They thought, I assume, that I was merely losing my mind like all the rest in Azkaban. I managed to swim to shore… and I have been hunting Peter Pettigrew ever since.'

'He is dead,' Albus said quietly.

'No,' Sirius disagreed, almost desperate now. 'He's _not_ , Albus.'

'I do not mean from twelve years ago,' the headmaster clarified. 'But this rat – he was a pet of Harry's friend and dormmate, Ronald Weasley. Harry himself told me he had died. Apparently, their friend Hermione had a cat with a fixation on Ron's pet. He managed to finish the job shortly after the holidays.'

Sirius shook his head again. 'I know the cat,' he admitted. And he explained to the headmaster about meeting the animal in the grounds, how he had been working with him to try and catch Wormtail. 'He brought me the list of passwords; the ones that got me into Gryffindor Tower. I tried to kill Peter then, but he had gone. The cat told me later that the boy thought him responsible – that Wormtail had left bloodied sheets behind him and fled the Tower. He faked his death, yet again. But he is _not_ gone, Albus. He is still here – is still at the school, somewhere. I can feel it.'

Albus pushed back in his chair. He rested the tips of his fingers beneath his chin – a gesture so familiar that Sirius almost smiled in spite of himself.

'The attacks at Hallowe'en and the first week-end of February were not wise,' the headmaster observed. 'They will not support your claims, in the Ministry's mind.'

Sirius grimaced. 'I thought Hallowe'en would be best,' he admitted. 'Everyone would be out of the Tower… Peter would have been there alone. No possibility of collateral damage to innocent students. And I – I must confess there was something righteous in it, to avenge James and Lily on the anniversary of their death.'

'But you could not get through,' the headmaster stated.

'No. I lost my temper, somewhat, when the Fat Lady refused to open. I am… I do apologise. It was not kind, what I did to her.'

'No,' Albus agreed solemnly. 'Though she has been restored.'

'And… Harry,' Sirius groaned. He ran his hand through his filthy hair, hating himself all over again as he remembered the events of that February night. 'He wasn't supposed to wake. None of them were… I was planning to slit Peter's throat, and sneak away again before they were any the wiser.'

'Harry is not known for keeping out of trouble,' Dumbledore admitted. There was a fond sort of twinkle in his eye as he spoke of Sirius' godson. It made Sirius feel an odd mixture of satisfaction and jealousy.

'Like his father,' Sirius said proudly in response. 'I tried to calm him, to talk to him… but he believes me as traitorous as the rest of the Wizarding World. I _didn't_ mean to hurt him. I would _never_ hurt him. Things got… out of hand. And he can do wandless magic, by the way – did you know? Disarmed me – sent my wand clear across the room.'

'Oh yes,' Albus agreed with a smile. 'He has been receiving instruction for almost a year now. He is talented, like both his parents before him.'

Sirius grinned in earnest. 'He looks _just_ like James,' he said wistfully. 'The spitting image. Lily's eyes, of course… but otherwise, he is his father reborn.'

'No,' the headmaster disagreed. 'Physically, yes, he very much resembles his father. And he has parts of both Lily and James – the best parts of both, in my view. But Harry is his own person, Sirius.'

Sirius' smile faded a bit. 'What's he like?' he asked the headmaster. 'I've watched him at Quidditch… he flies as well as James did, perhaps even better. But what else does he enjoy? Who are his friends? Who looks out for him? Is he…' he swallowed thickly. 'Is he happy?'

Albus' expression was all tenderness. 'He is kind and compassionate,' he said softly. 'He fiercely loyal, and incredibly brave. He has seen many difficult trials in his young life, and met each and every one admirably. He flies wonderfully – as you have noticed. He has been playing for Gryffindor since his first year – the youngest Seeker at Hogwarts in more than a century. He also shows great promise in defensive magic, Charms, Transfiguration and several other fields, including wandless spellwork. He struggles somewhat with Potions, although his work is much improved of late. He loves treacle, strawberries and Yorkshire pudding. He hates parsley, courgette and most kinds of nuts. He has many friends, though his closest are the two I have already spoken of – Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. And he is looked out for by every member of staff within this castle, although I cannot say truthfully he has ever been cared for by Vernon or Petunia Dursley. As to whether he is happy… a difficult question. But on the whole, I like to think the answer is yes. Certainly he has had a much happier time at school than he enjoyed in early childhood.'

Sirius did not know quite what to say. 'You've been there?' he pressed, capitalising on the obvious affection in the headmaster's voice. 'You, and Minerva? Remus?'

Albus' eyes were sad. 'Not nearly as much as I should have been,' he confessed heavily. 'I left well enough alone while he was young. I thought it would be best – safest – for Harry to be with his aunt and uncle. I still believe the protection Petunia's blood has given him a vital resource. I knew she would dislike the scheme… and I did not want to muddy the waters or test her resolve by involving the Wizarding World in his life while he was young. So I waited, until it came time for Harry to come to Hogwarts. His first year at the school was… eventful. The details, I fear, would take more than an evening to explain. Following the events of term I came to suspect something was amiss at the Dursley home, and I visited the following summer. What I found…'

He broke off, and Sirius shivered. The headmaster's anger was a terrible thing to behold.

'I did not deem it suitable for him to remain there for any great length of time, any longer. Nor do I think he should ever be alone in that house again. I returned Harry to Hogwarts, where Minerva and I watched over him for the summer until the start of his second year. Last summer Remus spent a week with him on Privet Drive and then he lived here, with us, for the remainder. That was about the time you broke out of Azkaban, as I am sure you will remember. I understand you met Harry and Severus near his relations' home.'

Sirius' eyes blazed, both at the information on the Dursleys and the reminder of Snivellus. ' _Why_ would you think it wise to send him to those wretched Muggles in the first place, Albus?' he demanded. 'And _why_ would you send _Snape_ to retrieve him? Don't you know what that man –'

'Harry's mother's blood protects him, Sirius,' Albus explained patiently. 'The sacrifice Lily gave ensures he cannot be touched by Voldemort, so long as its power remains. I acted in the best way I could see for Harry's survival, as I continue to do. As does Severus.'

'Snape _hated_ James!' Sirius spat. Whatever calming potion might have been in the tea was losing its effect… or perhaps his anger had finally surmounted it.

'Schoolboy grudges fade, Sirius.'

Sirius gave a mirthless laugh. 'Grudge?' he repeated sarcastically. ' _Grudge_? No, Albus. Snape's feelings for James went far beyond a _grudge_! He wanted him dead, even when we were kids. And he is a Death Eater! They tell all sorts in prison cells, you know… screaming through their bars. Everyone wondered how Snape had slithered his way out of Azkaban… how it was that _he_ managed to escape his due. It was you, wasn't it? _You_ saved him! For what, Dumbledore? So you could hand him James' son on a silver –'

'Do not presume to understand my motivations, Sirius,' Albus said sharply. 'Nor Severus'. Severus Snape risked everything – became a spy for the Order at great personal peril. He has saved your godson's life on numerous occasions since. And he is no more a Death Eater than you are.'

Sirius bit down the retort he longed to fire, too aware that Dumbledore had gone out on a very long limb for him, tonight. He ought to be grateful; ought to be rejoicing that his hunt for revenge and redemption was no longer a solitary mission in the shadows… And so he held his tongue, for the moment.

But he would never, _never_ trust Severus Snape.

There was a long silence. Albus poured a fresh round of tea. Sirius sipped at his for something to do while his temper thawed.

'We shall need to decide what to do for the best,' Albus said at last.

'Peter,' Sirius replied immediately. 'I _must_ kill Peter.'

'Sirius –'

'No,' he interrupted, setting the nearly-full cup aside again. 'Albus, do not get me wrong – I am very grateful for what you've done tonight. But _that_ is my mission, now. Harry will never be safe as long as Peter survives; as long as he is out there lying in wait. I have spent twelve years rotting on that forsaken island… I am _entitled_ to the murder they put me there for.'

'Vengeance is not justice, Sirius,' Albus said quietly. 'Revenge will not give you what you seek. It will not reawaken the dead. It will not return the years you have lost.'

'Revenge is all I have left, Albus!' Sirius disagreed.

'No, it is not,' said Albus, his own voice still calm. 'You have me. You have Remus, who will be overjoyed to have your friendship again. And, most importantly, you have Harry.'

' _You_ have Harry,' Sirius countered. He was watching Albus' face closely, and he knew the words were true.

'I can share,' Albus assured him. He was smiling, but Sirius did not laugh.

'I might have been there, once,' he said sadly. 'I might have been good for him. We could have been happy… but things are not as they were, Albus. _I_ am not as I was. You are a much better parent for him; a much safer option.'

'I am not Harry's father, Sirius,' Albus said quietly. 'Nobody is trying to replace James. But Harry needs people who are there for him. He has me, and Minerva. He has Remus. But there is room for you too, Sirius. It is your right. And Harry will welcome you with open arms, when he knows the truth. He has a big heart.'

'With Peter alive, there is nowhere he is safe!' Sirius repeated in a shout.

For one moment – just one, shining, selfish moment – he could see it. He could take Harry for his own, just as he had promised James and Lily so many years ago he would. He could raise him – or finish raising him, he supposed – in a country house in some far flung county… the sort of house he and Marley had teased one another about in stolen hours of fantasy. He would be Harry's keeper. He would make sure he was safe and well. He would play Quidditch and brew guelder-rose wine… Remus would visit and Harry and Sirius would swap his capers for Doxy eggs…

But that was not reality. It was not _his_ reality.

His reality was the Rat.

'I will _not_ give up hunting him!' he said hotly. 'I will not rest – until he is gone.'

Albus sighed. 'We will capture him,' he promised. 'We must, I think, if we are to secure your pardon with the Ministry. But Sirius… it is essential that you grasp the difference. Pettigrew's capture is necessary for your future, and for Harry's. But this task _cannot_ be retribution for the vicious crimes that Pettigrew has committed. If it is… if you proceed under the mantle of revenge… you will lose yourself in the process.'

Sirius did not see the difference. But, for the moment, he did not care. As long as Peter was dealt with… as long as the Rat rotted away – underground or in a prison cell, it made no difference.

And clearly he could not do it alone.

'Fine,' he said curtly.

Dumbledore did not look like he entirely trusted the answer, but he nodded all the same. 'Very well then,' he said. He stood from the chair and swept toward the fire. 'I shall need to step out a few moments. Please – help yourself to more tea. I will not be gone long.'

He threw a pinch of powder into the flames, but the destination was announced too quietly for Sirius to hear.

He felt odd, alone in the study. He'd been here a hundred times before. In his school days, when one of their pranks had got them into more trouble than Minerva or Filch felt like handling on their own… and later, as a young adult, when he'd fought alongside Dumbledore and the Order. It was many years, now. The furnishings and décor had changed some. But there were familiar bits all the same: Fawkes on his high golden perch, the stately portraits of a hundred sleeping (or feinting) headmasters and headmistresses, the roaring fire and the whirling silver instruments. It felt, in a sense, like coming home… but coming home to find you've travelled a decade into the future.

He did not know how long he'd been sitting there before the fireplace turned green.

Albus reappeared, smiling and carrying the Pensieve under one arm. Sirius had not even realised he'd taken it with him. Minerva appeared just behind him, her eyes wide and tearful. She dashed toward him as soon as the swirling ash subsided, clutching him tight in an uncharacteristic embrace. But the hug Sirius returned to her, startled and pleased though he was, was perfunctory.

For right behind her, stumbling out of the hearth, was…

'Remus!' he breathed over Minerva's shoulder.

He'd seen Remus a few times before, of course, over the past nine months. He knew he was greyer, more lined. He knew his shoulders slumped slightly in a way they had not when they'd been twenty-one. But now – seeing him standing there on the hearthrug – he looked barely a day over seventeen. His face was arrested. In shock, yes… but also in pure, unadulterated joy.

'Sirius!' he cried back.

Minerva released him, and Remus threw himself so heavily into her place that Sirius nearly stumbled back to the sofa. The man's arms were vicelike around his chest, and the place his face was pressed to his shoulder was wet.

'I've missed you too, Moony,' he said after several unbroken seconds, trying for light.

Remus gave a half-laugh, half-sob, pushing himself straight at last and wiping self-consciously at his face.

'Too long, Padfoot,' he said thickly. 'Too long.'

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'Severus.'

The call sounded from the fireplace. An unusual occurrence – Albus was more likely to come down in person if he needed the Potions Master in the middle of the night. Surprised, Severus set the pyjamas he had been about to change into down upon his bed and returned to the sitting room. But it was not the headmaster's head he found at his fireside. Instead, Albus himself was standing on the hearthrug, the ancient stone Pensieve in his hand and a curious expression on his face.

'Headmaster,' Severus greeted with a curt nod. 'What is it?'

Instead of answering, Albus walked over to the low table, setting the Pensieve on the polished surface. 'Sit, Severus,' he said, gesturing to the sofa behind him. 'There is something you must see.'

Severus scowled. He did not like venturing into the unknown with no indication of what it was he was intended to see. Even less did he like being told to sit in his own quarters.

The headmaster was not paying him any mind. He was busy uncorking a phial of shimmering silver memory, pouring the contents into the etched stone. Severus watched them swirl with apprehension.

'Headmaster, I –'

'I will go with you,' Albus replied quietly. 'But there is little time.'

Reluctantly, Severus placed his head into the Pensieve.

His feet slammed to the floor twenty minutes later… yet Severus felt as though he'd left his head behind.

 _It was not possible… it could_ not _be possible…_

He glanced into the headmaster's face, and he knew Albus had been turned.

'Headmaster, surely… _surely_ you realise the utter impossibility of this!' Severus spat angrily. 'Peter Pettigrew – an undetected _spy_? Inconceivable. And even assuming it were possible… pretending for a moment that Sirius Black has provided a _true_ memory… how does that at all account for his actions since last summer?! Why is _Black_ after the boy, if it was Pettigrew who betrayed them?'

'He is after Pettigrew, Severus,' Albus said heavily. 'I have been speaking with him for hours.'

He told the Potions Master, in summary, what Sirius Black had said: the masterful story he'd spun. A faint part of Severus' brain registered the possibility… but the rational, logical side he had always trusted screamed in protest. His own memories vehemently denied it. And bile rose in his throat.

'I _told_ you!' he raged, striding about the office with his fists clenched. 'I _told_ you, headmaster. You are _still_ doing it, don't you see? You are protecting Black, again, and he does not deserve it! You should have called for the Dementors the moment you found him… or, better yet, killed him on sight.'

'I am protecting the truth, my dear boy. The truth, and the good people who do not deserve their lot. I have done it for you for years… and I will do it now, for Sirius Black.'

'Sirius Black is the _enemy_!'

'Peter Pettigrew is the enemy, Severus,' Albus corrected. 'Voldemort is the enemy, and Pettigrew is in his service while Black's loyalties remain true. And until you are willing to accept that, you will be of no assistance in Pettigrew's capture or in the protection of this castle.'

Severus ground his teeth, fuming.

'The Ministry will not care,' Severus retorted viciously. 'You think this – this memory – will be enough to exonerate him, Albus? He is a Black. He is considered to have fooled _you_ , let alone the rest of the Order and the Ministry, for years. He is considered to have been a trusted lieutenant of the Dark Lord. You think the Ministry will accept that he does not have ways to alter his memories? You think they will trust even Veritaserum – trust that he is not a sufficiently accomplished Occlumens to evade its influence – with his notorious pedigree and the allegations against him? They will not. Even you… _you_ gave testimony against him. Fudge has led a public manhunt for him for months the likes of which this world has not seen since the Dark Lord fell. You may be the greatest sorcerer of the age. But your word, Albus, will not be enough to save him. Not this time.'

'No,' Albus agreed quietly. 'I suspect it will not. We will need Peter Pettigrew, if we hope to change Fudge's mind.'

'I could care less for Black's freedom,' Severus snarled. 'Whether he is guilty of the crimes he was imprisoned for or not, he _is_ an attempted murderer. He is a pestilence on society, and he can spend the rest of his days in Azkaban for all I care. Why should I help, Albus? He is nothing to me.'

Albus' eyes flashed. 'Protecting the innocent – righting the injustice of the past… these should be motivation enough, Severus,' he chastised. 'But if it is not… if you will not assist in this for Sirius, then do it for Harry. Do it because Pettigrew _is_ still out there, somewhere, and _he_ betrayed Lily to Lord Voldemort. He will come for Harry.'

'He has had twelve years to do so,' Severus pointed out, hiding his flinch at the Dark Lord's name. 'If what you and _Black_ believe is indeed true, then he has been sleeping at the brat's bedside for the better part of three years. He has made no move to kill him yet.'

'No,' Dumbledore agreed. 'But for twelve years, Voldemort has been a mere shadow. Pettigrew was responsible, at least in part, for bringing that downfall about. I do not think that Peter was ever loyal to the Dark Lord because he agreed with his philosophies… I suspect his was a coward's betrayal. He placed a bet, on the horse he expected to win. As such, I rather think he would be unlikely to act on his own to aide a master he no longer has reason to think could protect him.'

'You _suspect_ , Albus?' Severus repeated. 'How can you be sure… if you did not realise in the first place that Pettigrew was your traitor?'

'I cannot,' Albus answered truthfully. 'But I knew Peter… or, at least, I knew him somewhat. Clearly not as well as I thought. I do know, however, that bravery was not a quality he possessed in spades. But now – things have changed, Severus. Peter is a cornered man. Cornered men resort to desperate actions. Desperate men are dangerous.'

Severus huffed, turning away again. He watched a specimen of pickled Ashwinder undulating in its jar on a back shelf, willing some other path to open up before him.

It did not.

'Fine,' he relented at last. 'I will help you, Albus. But do _not_ expect me to make nice with that filthy brute of a man – whatever your own feelings.'

Albus sighed. 'That will do for now, Severus,' he accepted in a patronising tone. He gathered up the Pensieve once more.

'Come – the others are waiting upstairs.'

The scene Severus and the headmaster arrived to interrupt made him long for a phial of Draught of Living Death.

The Wolf was busying himself over the sitting area table, where it looked like the House-elves had provided a feast large enough to comfortably feed a small army. There were plates of bangers and heaping mounds of mash, breads and cakes, boiled vegetables on platters larger than rubbish bin lids and brightly coloured sweets. Lupin was plating as much as he could fit, clearly intending to force the lot on his erstwhile friend. Minerva, meanwhile, had the odious man seated on the ottoman. She was attacking his knotted mat of hair with no less than six pair of conjured shears, tutting to herself while she directed their efforts. A disgustingly brown basin on the floor with three floating flannels suggested she'd forgone magic in cleaning the mane first.

Black himself had his head down when the arrivals exited the Floo. Severus dearly wished he would lift it – those shears looked vicious enough to take an eye if he popped up at just the right angle…

'Better,' Minerva said with a sniff, dashing Severus' fleeting hopes. The shears stopped their assault, and she banished both them and the basin with a lazy flick of her wand.

Black gave an exaggerated sigh, flipping his head back and shaking out the much-shortened locks in a manner that would have suited his mutt alter ego much more than it suited a grown wizard. Bits of water flung themselves into all corners of the room. Severus snarled as several hit his face.

The sound awoke Black to their presence. His eyes snapped open and fixed, immediately, on Severus'. It was clear in an instant that their loathing was as mutual and as deep as ever it had been.

'Snivellus,' Black said curtly, his eyes narrowing as they remained fixed on Severus' face.

'Mutt,' Severus returned just as coldly. He felt his upper lip curl into a sneer, and thanked Black's tasteless actions for implanting the insult in such a timely manner.

'Sirius, don't,' the wolf muttered at the man's ear. Black shrugged away irritably, but he moved his gaze from Severus to Albus.

Severus, for his part, did not trust himself to speak again. But he did manage a scathing noise as Lupin handed the loaded plate to Black. The criminal dove into it immediately.

'What we are to discuss does not leave this room, is that understood?' Albus said, coming back from the Pensieve's cabinet to take the armchair at the head of the group.

Everyone nodded. Everyone also exchanged glances of varying distrust.

'Peter Pettigrew is the priority,' the headmaster continued. 'Without him, preferably _alive_ –' he paused a moment, his gaze flickering to Severus and also to Black – 'Our chances of reversing the charges against Sirius grow very slim indeed. Sirius believes he is still at Hogwarts…'

'I know he is,' Black emphasised.

Severus could not help his scoff. Black turned his steel grey glare on him.

'I _know_ Pettigrew,' he spat. 'Much better than you, _Snape_. And as _I_ am the only one who has been looking for him these past nine months –'

'Only because you were too short-sighted and moronic to seek the help of your betters,' Severus retorted in a silky voice. 'Or, perhaps, this is all some cock and bull story you have –'

'Severus…' Albus interrupted with a cautionary glare.

'No, let him say his piece, Albus,' Black disagreed. He gave Severus a challenging look. 'After all, perhaps he is right. None of us really knew Peter in the end, did we? He didn't truly run with our crowd. With Snape's, on the other hand, he was renowned… Makes you wonder, really, whether he has truly evaded my capture all this time just on his own sheer luck…'

'Sirius,' Albus warned, turning that same admonitory look toward him.

Severus snarled, starting forward at once. He ignored Minerva's hand on his arm and Lupin's protest – shoving the tip of his wand right under Black's arrogant chin. Twelve years in Azkaban had not taken all this man's bravado after all. He gave a half-cocked smile, waving Lupin off as the latter started forward and locking Snape's furious gaze with his own.

'Give me a reason,' Severus challenged in a low hiss. 'Just _one_ reason, mutt. And I swear I shall do it.'

'Go ahead and try your best,' Black retorted carelessly. 'You never did have the gumption, _Snivellus_. Or the wandwork.'

'I would remind you that _I_ am the only one of the two of us _with_ a wand, you worthless little –'

But he was pulled back before he could finish the threat, an invisible hook seeming to grab him round the middle and yank him all the way across the sitting area to his own seat. Spitting hair out of his mouth he whirled to glare at Dumbledore, but the headmaster was still seated quite the same as before, looking stern but holding neither wand nor hand outstretched.

'Will you _cease_ acting like petulant children!'

Severus turned his gaze on Minerva again, slightly chagrined as she stowed her guilty wand. Black gave a one-armed shrug and settled back with his colossal plate of food again.

'Wormtail is definitely still here,' he said as he picked out the onions from his vegetable pile. Severus noted the nickname with inward scorn. 'He won't leave the safety of the castle while I am on the hunt for him… nor will he wish to part himself from the opportunity to take Harry, if the time should come where that seems his best option.'

'I tend to agree,' Albus said, as casually as if the men before him had not nearly come to blows moments before. 'Unfortunately, locating him could prove difficult.'

'Why?' Lupin asked with a frown. 'Surely we could use a tracking spell of some kind…'

'Won't work,' Black said around a mouthful of sprouts. 'Not if he keeps to his Animagus form. Most of those spells are for human detection only – they wouldn't register an Animagus in animal form. And Peter would not dare to transform… especially here. I doubt he's spent five minutes as a man since James and Lily were killed.'

Lupin looked shifty for a moment. He gave Albus a nervous glance before he spoke again. 'There are… other types of tracking spells. Scrying spells that rely on – er – different talents.'

'Dark magic,' Minerva said shortly. Her tone was not dismissive, but she too glanced at Albus as she said it. 'Ronald Weasley stated that his rat left bloodied bedsheets… we could probably get a sample –'

'Won't work,' Black repeated. Thankfully, he'd swallowed his bite this time. He shot another look at Severus, only a fraction less contemptuous. 'Tell them why, Snape. You ought to know better than the rest of us.'

Severus refused to show his outrage. 'There is no way to know if he even has it,' he said in as neutral a tone as he could. 'After all, he'd be much harder to conceal within the Order ranks if he did. The main reason, I expect, they did not demand to see _yours_ , Black. It is possible that the Dark Lord –'

'He has it,' Black said shortly.

'How do you know?' Severus retorted. Black gave him a hard, steadfast look.

And Severus knew… _Black knew because he had tried it…_

He raised an eyebrow. 'I would not have thought those spells to your liking, Black,' he mocked. 'Rather more your family's style… and you always worked so hard to distance yourself from that which you were born to be…'

'Desperate times,' Black responded without remorse. 'It was the first thing I tried, after they died. I hardly cared what it might cost me… but my attempt came to nothing. Not that it mattered. Peter was as predictable as ever he –'

'Perhaps you just haven't the skill,' Severus jeered. 'It is hardly conclusive proof that he has one.'

'Has what?' Minerva asked with a frown.

Severus turned to her. 'The Dark Mark,' he said. He whispered the words, though he knew not why. 'It is imbued with certain magics…'

'A Protean Charm,' Minerva said, nodding. 'Everyone knows –'

'Not just a Protean Charm,' Severus corrected her. 'The Dark Mark is imprinted on every Death Eater who bears it by the Dark Lord himself. It is a means of summoning, yes… but it is also a manner of cloaking from detection. Most scrying magics are rendered impossible on those who bear the Mark – though not all,' he added, shifting his gaze from the sickened-looking Minerva to Albus.

The headmaster shook his head. 'Even if other means of tracking were conceivable,' he said slowly, 'I fear the magic of the castle itself would nullify their success. Hogwarts protects her occupants. Tracing him by tracking or scrying would be impossible here.'

Lupin suddenly clapped a hand to his mouth, his eyes growing wide. 'No,' he disagreed. 'No… not impossible…'

He jumped to his feet, hurrying toward the fireplace.

'Remus, what –' Minerva started, bewildered, but the wolf did not stop. He shouted at the hearth for his quarters and disappeared in a flash of flame.

He returned barely two minutes later, slightly breathless and clutching a tattered, worn scrap of parchment in one hand. Black's eyes snapped to it at once.

' _Brilliant_!' he said, looking thrilled. He leaned forward as Lupin reached the low table, the rest copying automatically. 'How'd you nick it back?' he asked in a reverent tone. 'I thought Filch would have burned it by now.'

Lupin chewed at his lip a moment. 'I… it wasn't destroyed,' he evaded. 'I got it earlier this term.'

He placed the tip of his wand to the parchment. 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,' he said seriously, tapping the centre. Severus was about to snort when intricate, curling ink lines began to spread over the page, swirling themselves into what was clearly –

'A map,' he said, impressed in spite of himself. 'The entire castle…'

'And the grounds,' Black added smugly. 'We made it – the four of us. Back when we were at school.'

'Merlin,' Minerva breathed.

Albus' eyes too were calculating as he swept the document, which was now crawling with a thousand tiny ink dots, each labelled with a miniscule name.

'It will be virtually impossible to spot him in all this,' Severus pointed out, making his tone extra rancorous to cover up the moment of weakness.

They tried all the same – for more than an hour. By the end of it Severus thought he was likely to need spectacles thicker than Trelawney's… but Pettigrew was nowhere to be found.

'He could be in the forest,' Black suggested half-heartedly when they finally called it quits.

'If he is,' the headmaster said, 'Then he will not be able to remain there for long. The forest harbours only the innocent.'

Severus snorted derisively. If _Black_ had been living there nine months…

'How _did_ you find me?' the man asked, apparently on a similar train of thought. 'You never said.'

Albus smiled. 'It was Aberforth's idea, actually,' he admitted with a smile. 'I had been mulling over the options with him, six weeks or so ago. He suggested if you _were_ in the forest, then my growing suspicions were correct – there was more to the tale than what we thought we knew. It was difficult, of course. I have a generally good relationship with both the centaurs and the unicorns, but both evaded my entreaties for assistance. They do not feel it right to interfere with the fate of the Wizarding World, and they consider it sacrilege to meddle in the magic of the Forest. Tracking spells do not work in the trees, just as they are ineffectual in the Hogwarts grounds. So I searched each night the long way, seeking your magical signature and looking for your presence.'

'I wasn't using magic,' Black pointed out. 'I didn't have my wand…'

'You have an aura all the same,' the headmaster said simply. 'And all magic leaves traces, Sirius. A wand is quite unnecessary. As I say, it took quite some time… but we got there, in the end.'

Minerva cleared her throat. 'Albus, it is coming on four in the morning,' she pointed out. 'If we are creating a plan…'

'Quite right,' Dumbledore agreed. 'Well, I suppose for now the best we can do is continue to search – each of us. Remus, I would suggest you keep this ingenious map with you. If Pettigrew is indeed in the Hogwarts vicinity, he is bound to put in an appearance at some point. Minerva, Severus and I can conduct our own searches periodically through the castle and grounds, and obviously you will let us know should your perusal of the map discover Pettigrew's whereabouts. Sirius –' He turned to face Black again. 'I think, for tonight, you ought to remain here. But it would not be a wise idea in the long term. I would suggest taking a room at the Hog's Head…'

'I am _not_ sitting this out, Albus!' Black shouted. 'I broke out of Azkaban to come after Wormtail… I lost everything because of him! I have led the _only_ effort to bring him to justice! You cannot push me aside now…'

'Oh yes,' Severus jeered. 'Because you've done so well thus far…'

'Do let me finish, Sirius,' Albus said placatingly. 'I was about to say, I _would_ suggest a room in the village, but I suspect with the Dementors patrolling Hogsmeade it would not be wise. The castle too seems a risky decision. Even in my own quarters, I fear, there is always a chance another student or uninformed member of staff might become privy to your whereabouts and raise the alarm. We cannot risk your discovery. I think, on the whole, that the best bet may be the Shrieking Shack.'

 _How fitting_ , Severus thought nastily. Black's eyebrows raised.

'The… the Shrieking Shack?' he repeated uncertainly.

'Yes,' said the headmaster. 'It is accessible from the Hogwarts grounds, as you know, but impossible to enter from the outside. No student is aware of the passage, and no Dementor or Ministry wizard would be able to break in from the village. You would be on hand and able to assist – yet we do not run the risk that you may be discovered. We can take measures to make it more comfortable, of course… but I dare say it will be a vast improvement over a hollow in the forest even in the dreadful state it is currently reposing.'

'I – yes, alright,' Black agreed after a moment.

Inwardly, Severus gave a sigh of relief. At least he would not have _two_ of the insufferable group under the castle's roof… Lupin alone was torture enough…

'And I do think you will be needing this,' Albus added. He swirled his wand through the air, catching a thin black box. He held it out.

Black took it with a puzzled expression. He flipped the lid, revealing a brand new, gleaming wand. Black grasped it in his left hand with trembling fingers. It let out a shower of purple sparks as it was removed from its packaging.

'How did you manage to acquire it?' he asked, turning shining eyes to the headmaster. 'How did you know it would suit?'

Dumbledore smiled. 'I took the liberty of placing an order several weeks ago,' he admitted. 'Just in case. You have no reason to worry – I consulted the school records to glean an idea of what combination might be suitable, and I utilised a wandmaker on the Continent. I do not think it likely there will be a suspicious trail.'

'Thank you, Albus,' Black breathed, running talon-tipped fingers over the length of the wand. 'It is perfect.'

'Let's leave it there, for tonight,' Minerva insisted with another anxious glance at the clock.

Everyone got to their feet. Minerva made to lead Black upstairs to the guest chamber, while Severus and Lupin started for the hearth. But Black paused at the base of the steps, turning to Albus again.

'What about Harry?' he asked.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. 'I will see to it that Harry is protected,' he assured him. 'He will be closely watched to ensure no harm might come to him while Pettigrew remains at large.'

'No – I mean yes,' Black said, looking awkward. 'But I meant… may I see him?'

'A terrible idea!' Severus spat before he could stop himself; before Albus or Minerva could reply.

 _Black, Lupin and Potter running about Hogwarts again… never mind that it was a different Potter… they were just the same, after all. Harry Potter was James reincarnated, and nobody would see that sooner than Black. Severus could not stand it… he would not tolerate it…_

'Severus –'

'Who was asking _you_?' Black shouted. 'I don't recall seeking your permission to see _my_ godson, _Snivellus_. Nor do I remember either Lily or James naming _you_ his keeper!'

'Believe me, I have no interest in staking any claim to your arrogant toerag of a godson!' Snape retorted icily. 'I do, however, have to suffer through the task of attempting to teach him – thick as his father though he may be –'

' _Severus_ –'

'And the last time he appeared in my classroom with his fragile psyche fractured, it set his progress back weeks!' Severus finished. 'Forgive me, Black, but I do not think introducing him to his long-lost _convict_ of a godfather and announcing there is yet _another_ to blame for his parents' demise would aide him in mastering dangerous magical arts!'

'Why you sodding –'

'ENOUGH!'

Albus had shouted this time, and the office thundered in more ways than one. His glare was shared between the pair of them… but Severus knew the bulk was meant for him alone.

'I want to see him,' Black said stubbornly. 'And after all, he'll need to meet me, if – once we are able to deal with Pettigrew – he's ever going to come and live with me…'

'Live with you?' Severus repeated mockingly. ' _Live_ with you? Five minutes out of a twelve-year stint in Azkaban… nine months living of woodland rodents and obsessing over _murdering_ your once best friend while refusing to seek any aide… and you think you are ready to become a parent? You think you can _raise_ the Boy Who Lived?! You think it wise to remove him from Hogwarts – from the headmaster's protection – to seek shelter in your _capable_ arms? You are madder than even I thought, Black.'

Black stiffened, his nostrils flaring white. 'He's _my_ godson!' he shouted. 'He's mine by right! By law!'

Severus laughed maliciously. 'You think your guardianship rights still stand?' he jeered. 'They were severed the moment James Potter hit the ground, you ignorant –'

'I SAID, ENOUGH!'

The candles in the room flickered, the floor vibrating. Both Sirius and Severus fell silent as though struck dumb. Minerva was looking awkward, Lupin wary. Severus continued to glare at Black, who stared just as resolutely back.

'This is not the time for a conversation on Harry's future,' Albus said in a calmer voice. 'But Sirius is right, Severus. He deserves the chance to meet Harry… and Harry deserves the same.'

Black gave a true smile. Severus wished he could knock out each of those yellowed teeth.

'We will decide how to handle it in the morning,' Albus went on. 'For tonight, I believe everyone is in desperate need of sleep. Remus, Severus, I shall see you on the morrow.'

Severus gave a curt nod to Minerva and the headmaster and pushed past Lupin to be first through the Floo.

Lupin… who he noted with vacant interest had been quite silent during that little show of temper…

And he wondered, as he stalked into bed and lay staring wide-eyed up at the ceiling, whether he and the wolf were perhaps in agreement, for once, on Harry Potter.

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 36**

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thank you for your review! Glad you are looking forward to the climax of our story :). I cannot promise how it will end, of course, but I do hope you will enjoy it!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for reviewing! Hmm… it would be a wonderful thing if that was the way it worked out… but I cannot promise it will be that perfect: this is Harry, after all. Hopefully you'll enjoy the journey to resolution in this book and beyond. As for how or even if they are able to Sirius exonerated – well, I think his situation will become clearer by the end of Chapter 39 or 40. :) Enjoy the next instalment!

 **LouisaLaw** : Thanks for your review! It's great to hear that you're enjoying the series so far and are finding it a unique read. I hope you will continue to like it as we move forward! Part III (which we should begin around May, if life does not offer delay) will definitely not be the last in the series… I am anticipating at least seven parts, perhaps eight. The first few will cover about one year each (so Part III, e.g. will pick up just after end of term and follow Harry through the summer and through his fourth year), though of course the timelines that are explored in flashback fall outside the 'present' progression. As we advance into Parts IV-VII, however, it is possible I may start cutting out smaller timeframes to focus on – if only to preserve length. This book is already shaping up to be twice the length of Part I, or the equivalent of POA canon + OOP. So the short answer I suppose is no, it will not be the last in the series, but yes it will focus on summer and fourth form.

 **StormOwlRage** : Thank you for the review and the well wishes! Happy you are enjoying the book still, and I'm glad you like the characters' portrayals. I do promise to keep updates as quick as I can, despite the circumstances in my personal life… luckily, I'd logged quite a bit of writing for both the conclusion of Part II and the start of Part III over the past few months in anticipation of the twins' arrival, so hopefully I can continue to be timely with updating. As I write this reply, Chapter 36 has been up for approximately twelve hours… I am hoping to have Chapter 37 up by week-end – you can hold me to that if it does not post in a timely manner.

 **Guest** : Thanks for reviewing! Glad you are excited about the story and I hope the update was not too long of a wait for you. Enjoy Chapter 36!

 **AlsoKnownAsMatt** : Thank you for your review! I am glad you liked the interaction between Snape and Albus over Sirius and happy the cliff-hanger read well. Everything is going smoothly with the twins so far… they _do_ wake me quite early this morning (hence the posting at about four a.m. or so…). They say it is best to sleep when the baby sleeps, but it's not so easy to get on their odd schedule.

Hope you like the next chapter!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thank you for your review! I hope your viva voce went well – I remember how horrible the experience always was… but at least it is behind you for now. Thank you for the well wishes :). It _is_ true that you hardly ever have any time with children – or, at least, in my limited experience thus far it is… but luckily I had stock-piled quite a bit of writing over the past few months in anticipation of this period of my life (and the beginnings and endings are always the first things I complete in writing), so luckily there is not too much to be filled in. I am hoping I can keep the updates speedy, even with the children around. Nanny arrives at the six-week mark so that will also make things a bit easier.

Glad you enjoyed the chapter! Oh poor Remus, _I_ felt badly for him and I put him at the door in the first place… haha. I did consider having Albus react more like Minerva, but on the whole I felt this fit better with the breadcrumbs of truth he has been collecting and musing over since the summer. Yes, pretty sure Minerva is more stunned that both she _and_ the headmaster managed to miss such a crucial bit of dangerous rule-breaking… but then, they _did_ have a war on at the time. Happy you liked the little story of how the Animagus scheme came about. :)

Ah, Aberforth! Interesting that you've asked after him… because there is a story here. To answer your question – yes, he does know, Albus has told him. So originally, I had an entire scene in this chapter where Albus requested Minerva bring Harry to the Hogs Head, then went to see Aberforth and mused aloud with him about the situation until Minerva and Harry arrive. It is Aberforth who sort of validates Albus' decision not to go to Fudge, and ultimately the one who prods Dumbledore into searching for Sirius himself for answers (as we see from the final scene he has been doing). However, ultimately I decided to cut this scene (with the exception of the part after Harry and Minerva's arrival) from the final version of Chapter 36, even though I loved it. There were a few reasons why… 1) I felt I had too much 'musing on Sirius' true motives' in this chapter already, so though it might be logical for the characters it would mean rehashing for the readers; 2) it made the cliff-hanger ending more interesting, in my view, because we have jumped six weeks quite suddenly with little idea of what happened in between. That time frame as well as Albus and Aberforth's discussion will be explored in the conversation with Sirius, which I thought would be both more dynamic and more cohesive, as Sirius has the answers Albus is looking for. I hope this will make sense when it plays out!

Snape and the lesson. Yes, probably would have made more sense for Minerva to talk to Snape. Honestly, I do not believe she even thought of it, being so distracted with the weight of the news over Sirius. Oooh… Harry's accidental reveal. Yes, he had _no_ idea that Snape did not know. For similar reasons as the situation with Aberforth, I elected to skip over the details of the headmaster's conversation with Harry – jumping instead to Harry's reaction later in the night. So we only get passing mention that Dumbledore plans to inform some of the staff but not the Minister, at least for now. Harry has taken that information and assumed that Albus has told Snape (not an unfair assumption, really, as Albus certainly _would_ have)… but nobody here had really considered that Harry might reveal the truth to the Potions Master first. Safe to say Snape is _beyond_ furious.

Ah, and the final scene. I alluded it to a bit above… but we've had a bit of a time-jump here (the chapter picks up in the second week of February and ends close to April). This final scene is a teaser in many respects, but we'll get more details in the next chapter, including Albus' motivations… Will it change the original story? Most definitely. To an extreme? Hmm… we'll see… I hope everyone enjoys how Part II concludes.

Enjoy Chapter 37! :)

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thanks for your review! Glad you're still enjoying, and I hope you like the next instalment!

 **AECM** : Thank you for reviewing and for the well wishes! Happy you're still loving the story, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter!


	38. The Godson

**A/N:** Pretty much on schedule… given the ungodly hour I still consider this essentially week-end. I ended up with much more material in this chapter than I had anticipated, and made a few cuts I am not sure I'm alright with leaving out of the book entirely (really, how _do_ true authors part with scenes and stories they love for the sake of moving the plot along)… I may end up putting some of the cut scenes back in the story in Chapter 39.

Enjoy 'The Godson', and **please** **read and review!**

My responses to those who reviewed for Chapter 37 are at the end, as usual. I shall do my best to get Chapter 39 up in the next week or so.

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **Chapter 38: The Godson**

'Nothing to report,' Minerva said, shrugging off her cloak as she entered the headmaster's low-lit bedchamber very late on the last Tuesday in March. 'I did a full sweep of the castle, and Severus handled the grounds and the edges of the forest. I checked in with Remus before I came up as well. He states that Pettigrew has not made an appearance on that map.'

Her nostrils flared a bit as she said it, and Albus almost smiled at what he knew was thinly veiled disapproval that such an item had been aiding their erstwhile mischief makers… even though the offence had occurred so many years ago.

Aloud, he sighed. 'Not entirely unexpected,' he admitted. 'There has been no sign the whole of the week.'

Minerva rubbed her hands together against the chill of the room. She was frowning. 'How can you be certain, Albus, that Pettigrew is even still at Hogwarts?'

Albus raised an eyebrow. 'You doubt Sirius' version of events?' he asked, surprised.

Minerva shook her head. 'Not his account of the Potters' deaths,' she clarified. 'But… we have no real evidence that Pettigrew remains at the school. We are operating on faith in Sirius' instincts and the word of a cat.'

Albus truly did smile now. 'Rather hypocritical, my dear. The word of cats is often wise,' he quipped. 'Why I myself have found –'

'Albus, don't catch me out,' Minerva groaned, rolling her eyes. 'You know precisely what I meant.'

'I do,' the headmaster assured her before her irritation could truly grow. 'Forgive the joke. But I do think Sirius is right, in this. Peter has nowhere to run at the moment. He has no friends among the Death Eaters… they have as much cause for vengeance as Sirius himself. He will hardly go to Voldemort empty handed. And he believes, for now, that Sirius is the only person who realises the truth – and also that this entire castle is hunting Sirius Black. In Pettigrew's mind, there can be no safer place to hide.'

'Then _why_ hasn't he shown on the map?' Minerva countered. 'Why haven't any of our patrols successfully located him?'

'As to that,' Albus said heavily, I have no idea.'

She bit at her lip in anxiety. 'I shan't stay,' she decided, picking her cloak back up again. 'I wish to be on hand for the Tower…'

'Of course,' Albus agreed. He set the book he'd been reading aside, standing to kiss her goodnight. 'I shall see you in the morning.'

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It was an odd start to the Easter holidays.

The week had started out alright, at least at first. Albus had informed him on Monday afternoon that he and Hagrid had won Hagrid's case with the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures – much to his, Hermione and Ron's relief. Hagrid was in such a good mood about the whole thing that he'd given them a lesson on Billywigs – a wonderful treat when compared to the Flobberworms that had plagued the weeks leading up to the hearing date. Hagrid kept them in a glass box while he lectured, not wanting the class to go into a fit of giddiness that would leave them unable to concentrate… but it was still an enjoyable lesson.

By the end of the week, however, Harry wondered whether getting stung might have been a better option. At least then if his world was turning on its end, he would have been too blissful to notice.

'What a day Hermione's had, eh?' Ron muttered to him as they made their way out of their last lesson before the holiday. Ron's voice was a bit more cheerful than Harry thought he might have been otherwise… for though he hadn't been stung by a Billywig, he _had_ suffered Harry's distraction in the form of a bit-too-powerful Cheering Charm.

Harry nodded in agreement.

It had started that morning, following their second Care of Magical Creatures lesson of the week. After the lecture on Chimeras (which, thankfully, Hagrid hadn't managed to bring specimens in for), they'd been on the way back up to the castle when they'd been stopped by Draco Malfoy and his usual Slytherin gang. Malfoy – who had been in an unusually sour temper since the decision from the Ministry – had broken the news that his father was appealing the verdict to the Wizengamot directly, meaning Hagrid and Dumbledore would have to return to the Ministry in June. With Albus' involvement, he would have to recuse himself as Chief Warlock… and Malfoy was certain his father would be victorious as a result. Harry and Ron had been engaged in a shouting match that was drawing close to blows… when Hermione interrupted by punching Malfoy clear across the face, hard enough to bloody his nose.

Ron and Harry had had to drag her off before Crabbe and Goyle recovered enough to retaliate.

She had been in a temper the whole of the morning. When Professor Trelawney had insulted her in Divination after luncheon, she'd walked straight out of the classroom with a promise never to return to the subject. Harry had thought she'd lost her mind – or perhaps was joking (it was April Fools' Day, after all… he had the residual glitter in his hair from the Weasley twins' impromptu midnight birthday party to prove it). But Hermione had not returned to the lesson, and he and Ron had found her books topping the overflowing rubbish bin at the edge of the ladder on their exit.

They'd both missed Arithmancy. Harry had waited so long in their usual disused classroom for her to appear with the Time-Turner that he'd been fifteen minutes late for Charms and had to offer a hurried excuse to Professor Flitwick as he dashed to his seat. Hermione had never turned up for Charms, either.

By now, he was beyond perplexed. He was seriously concerned.

'Do you think something's happened to her?' he asked Ron in a low voice as they climbed the steps. 'I mean… Malfoy, or –'

'Relax, mate, she probably just fancied a kip,' Ron said with a shrug. 'You looked at her lately? Easter holiday can't come at a better time – she's about ready to keel over, I'm telling you.'

Harry was about to retort that Hermione was more likely to marry Draco Malfoy than miss a lesson to have a mid-afternoon lie-down… but he stopped himself. Ron was now humming tunelessly – and it was obvious the Cheering Charm's effects were still too fresh for sarcasm to make any impact at all.

And – to his shock – Ron appeared to be right… though Harry rather doubted Hermione's sleep was voluntary. They re-entered the Tower to find her snoring lightly, her head resting on her enormous Ancient Runes textbook and a plethora of bushy hair. He prodded her gently.

'Hermione?'

She slept on, mumbling a bit as she shifted her head away from the annoyance.

'Oi – Hermione,' Harry tried again, a bit louder.

This time, she woke with a start.

'Wh – what?' she muttered, pulling hair away from her lips. 'Harry? What is it – what have we got next?'

'Nothing,' he answered with a small smile. He sank into the chair next to her, Ron falling into the one on the end. 'That's it until after the holidays. We've a few hours before supper though, if you want to rest somewhere more comfortable.'

'Wh – no, that can't be right,' Hermione said in a high-pitched voice. She began shuffling the many tomes stacked around her. 'We've… there's still Flitwick's, isn't there –'

'You slept through it,' Ron offered helpfully. 'Missed the whole lesson.'

Harry shot him an irritated scowl. He would have chastised the blunt remark… if it weren't his fault in the first place that Ron was in this state.

Hermione gasped. 'I've – what? Oh no!' she moaned. 'I forgot to got to Charms! _And_ Arithmancy, _and_ Ancient Runes!' she realised. Her face paled as she chewed at her lip, then she turned a furious glare on Harry. 'How could you not tell me?' she demanded. 'You ought to have – oh, what am I going to do? I can't _believe_ I forgot!'

'Forgot?' Ron repeated with a half-snort, half-giggle. 'How could you forget? You're Hermione Granger!' He giggled again, clearly missing the dangerous glint in her eye. 'And keep your hair on – it was only Charms. Divination was second to last today, remember? I reckon you're starting to crack up a bit, you know…'

'Ronald Weas –'

'Don't,' Harry said in an undertone as Ron distracted himself once more with that tuneless song. 'He's… I overdid my Cheering Charm, a bit. He can't help it.'

She sighed, running her fingers through her hair.

'And – he's not wrong, Hermione,' Harry continued. 'Not that you're losing it!' he backtracked hastily as she swelled with indignation. 'It's just… don't you think it's all been a bit much for you, lately? You're barely sleeping, not eating much… you could just drop something, you know.'

'I dropped Divination not three hours ago,' she pointed out waspishly.

Harry rolled his eyes. 'I mean drop something that's _actually_ taxing your time, Hermione. You can't honestly tell me Trelawney's work has got you this run down.'

Hermione bit fretfully at her lip. 'I… I just _can't_ , Harry,' she insisted. 'There's too much to learn – and it's all important! You think people like – like Dumbledore get to where they are because they took it easy at school?' she challenged.

'Yes,' said Harry seriously. 'Well, not easy,' he amended. 'But Dumbledore didn't take twelve subjects either in his third year, Hermione. He told me himself he never studied Divination or Muggle Studies at school.'

She crossed her arms, looking sour. 'Bill and Percy Weasley _both_ managed to juggle twelve O.W.L. subjects,' she pointed out. 'You don't think I'm as clever as –'

'It's got nothing to do with intelligence,' Harry said firmly. He chanced a glance at Ron's seat again, but the red-head had wandered over to watch Fred and George's epic Exploding Snap tournament. He turned back to Hermione.

'Bill Weasley spent so much time focused on books through his fifth year that he went into Curse-breaking to blow off all his pent-up steam,' he informed her. 'And _Percy_ does almost nothing but school… and even he dropped Muggle Studies after fourth year. His father helped him cram the subject over the summer so he could sit the O.W.L. Ask Ron about it, if you don't believe me.'

'I believe you,' Hermione said slowly. 'But I just don't…'

'And, Hermione,' Harry added, looking very seriously at her now, 'Bill and Percy Weasley… they didn't have the sort of lives you, Ron and I have, you know? Rescuing Wizarding artefacts from the hands of Voldemort… trying to sort out that Chamber last year… Sirius Black this year… there's just – there're other things, in our world. And I'm sorry,' he added with a self-conscious shrug. 'Because it's mostly _my_ fault your life's like that in the first place. But so long as you keep hanging around me, I have a feeling that life will keep being like that.'

'Oh, Harry,' she sighed, her expression melting a little. She reached out a hand and found his, squeezing hard. 'You know I wouldn't trade it – _any_ of it – for a thousand O.W.L.s,' she promised him. 'And… I promise I'll think about it, alright? After this term is over…'

'Oi – Harry, Hermione!' Ron called, waving his arms from the centre of the common room. 'Come and have a go!'

Harry dropped Hermione's hand with a small smile.

'You play,' Hermione said, nodding him toward Ron. 'I'd better go and find Flitwick and the others before supper…'

Harry grimaced. 'Er, could you tell Professor Vector I'm sorry as well?' he asked guiltily. 'I couldn't go back, without you… Don't apologise!' he added at once as Hermione's face fell. 'You had a rough day – I get it. But just tell her I'll make up the work, if you would.'

'Of course,' she said with a nod.

She snatched up her bag and made toward the portrait hole at a trot. Harry had just started toward Ron and the gathered crowd of would-be Exploding Snap champions when he heard –

'Potter!'

His heart sank as he spun toward the portrait hole. Minerva was standing there, her expression unreadable. Hermione – just inches from her on her way out – had the same devastated look of guilt on her face that Harry was sure appeared (perhaps muted) on his own. He had not anticipated she would hear quite so quickly that they'd skived, even if unintentionally.

Minerva beckoned him again with the crook of a finger.

'Er – later,' he said vaguely toward Ron.

He turned for the door instead, following his Head of House's retreating back.

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Remus finished his lessons on Friday afternoon by two o'clock. For the first time since he had begun teaching at Hogwarts, the end of the day could not come soon enough.

He had kept the map open surreptitiously on a corner of his desk the entire time – as he had all week. He was becoming obsessive. He worried, somewhat, that he was not paying sufficient attention to his pupils, darting glances at the parchment every few minutes like he had some irritating tick. He had stopped eating breakfast and lunch in the Great Hall, worried that the hundreds of bodies and constant conversation would distract him from his perusal. He would have had supper in his quarters too, if Minerva had not put her foot down.

When he was not teaching, he stared for hours at the moving dots… vaguely eating whatever the elves had sent up for his solitary meals or sipping at tea when he grew tired. His rest was broken and incomplete, so often he had woken himself gasping in the night and lunched for the parchment on his bedside table. He was panicky in conversation that lasted more than five minutes. He took baths instead of showers – so he could keep his head out as long as possible. And he worried, constantly, that the minutes he was not staring at the map were the ones Pettigrew spent flitting about the castle.

But the odd thing was, he had never spotted him. Not once since they had begun their patrol. Everyone was sure he remained at the school… yet he _couldn't_ be here, if he was not on the map. Not unless Peter had succeeded where the other three had not, and found some hideaway they had never known existed.

Severus, somewhat to his annoyance, popped round nearly every evening after supper and between his own patrols. He never engaged in any chat and seemed to find the need to visit almost painfully vexing… but he spent hours every night peering at the map across the sitting room table from Remus, refusing refreshment and glaring at the moving dots of ink. He did not even bother to dash out when they glimpsed a student or two out of bounds; for he, like Remus, was fixated on the chance that Pettigrew would show himself. When he finally departed each night, it was always with a scathing comment that he did not think Remus was truly putting the effort in, and perhaps he would speak to the headmaster about reassigning the duty to peruse the map.

Remus never replied. There hardly seemed to be a point.

Today, however, he was not returning to his quarters and his solitary watch. Instead, he'd stowed the Marauder's Map in a pocket of his robes, grabbed a bottle of inexpensive Firewhisky from his meagre stores, and headed down the familiar path to the Whomping Willow. He glanced furtively around as he reached the outskirts of the branches, checking to ensure that no wandering students might catch his activities. When the coast appeared clear, he flicked his wand at a stray bow upon the grass. It floated obediently to poke the familiar knot at the base of the trunk, and the tree stomped its vicious flailing. Remus took one last glance around, and he ducked hurriedly into the hollow.

'Sirius,' he greeted the man as he entered the dimly lit room from the tunnel.

The house was in better shape than it had been in decades – Dumbledore had clearly been by, or at the least sent some of the castle elves to see to the repairs. There was not a speck of dust on any of the surfaces any longer. The vicious destruction of the various furnishings had been mended or replaced, and a fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Remus was sure, should he venture upstairs, that Albus would have seen to it the two small bedrooms were likewise made liveable, and probably provided Sirius with an array of clothing and necessities. A half-eaten tray set on one of the end tables evidenced that someone had certainly stocked the kitchen, for the first time in the house's history.

'Remus,' Sirius replied. He was seated on the now spotless sofa, and set aside a copy of the _Prophet_ to stand as Remus entered the room. He was bathed and dressed in new, gleaming black robes – looking all around much better kept than he had the night they'd been reunited. Even so, the handsome robes and haircut could hide neither his still emaciated form nor the flicker of haunting that pervaded behind his eyes.

Sirius swept his arms, indicating the room with half a smile. 'Cleans up rather well, doesn't it?' he joked.

Remus gave a small laugh. 'You'd never have thought it played host to a most fearsome monster for seven years,' he quipped back.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. 'I resent that,' he said in a mock hurt tone. 'You might have been fearsome, Remus, but _I_ am the second most dangerous wizard in the country.'

'Touché,' Remus relented. He dug the bottle of Firewhisky out of his robes, holding it aloft. 'What say we drink to it?'

Sirius grinned. He flopped back down onto the sofa, patting the cushion next to him. 'I've hardly tasted a good spirit in twelve years,' he bemoaned.

'Well, don't set your hopes too high,' Remus cautioned. 'I couldn't get Ogden's finest on such short notice… this is the cheap stuff I'm afraid.'

'Anything'll be better than I remember,' Sirius said with a shrug. The words were said in jest, but Remus could hear the sadness beneath them. He plunked the bottle of whisky down on the table and conjured two glasses. Sirius set the bottle to pour with a flick of his own new wand.

'Getting the hang of it again, then?' Remus asked, nodding at the polished handle as Sirius stowed the wand again.

'Like riding a broomstick,' Sirius said with another small smile, raising his tumbler.

Remus cocked an eyebrow as he took his own glass from the table. They clinked, and each drank deeply. The whisky burned Remus' throat on its descent… definitely nothing as fine as Albus generally kept on hand.

'Well… perhaps not precisely,' Sirius admitted, smacking his lips in appreciation of the drink. 'But I've been shut up here the better part of the week, haven't I? Had to do something to pass the time besides stew in my own frustration.'

'What was it like?' Remus asked, honestly curious. 'I've never spent more than a day without my wand before… not since I was eleven. I can't imagine.'

A shadow passed over Sirius' face. 'It's not easy,' he confessed. 'Especially at first. Your magic wants an outlet – everyone knows that. I can do some things wandlessly, of course, but I was never much bothered about learning true wandless casting when we were young. And it isn't the same, anyway. The moment they snapped my wand was the most devastating thing that ever happened to me, next to losing the people I loved. They don't do it right away. They take your wand, naturally, as soon as you go in. But for most it gets stored somewhere, and it's returned when you leave the prison. They don't snap it unless you're given a life sentence.'

He paused, taking a larger gulp from his whisky. Remus stayed silent as he refilled the glass.

'I don't know how long it was before that day came,' Sirius admitted quietly. 'A week, maybe two. I know it was morning because they'd brought a tray in an hour or so before. Three Ministry officials came down, and a few of the guards. They silenced me at once so I couldn't interrupt, and then they read my sentence off a little slip of parchment. One of them pulled my wand out of a pocket, and he snapped it in two right in front of me. He put the pieces in a little box and they walked right out again.'

Remus shuddered.

'It's almost like castration, I think, though luckily I've never experienced the comparison,' Sirius said with the hint of a wan smile. 'You feel like the very essence of who you are was just destroyed. They've taken something from you… something deeply personal and irreplaceable. They've removed you forever from Wizarding society. It is more exiling than the prison itself. Then come the practical implications: the effect on your magical core.

'For a month or so, even through the rest of the awfulness, I had this pent-up excess of magic; like my body was tearing itself apart. But that fades after a time, with the Dementors around. They drain all the fight from you. I remember welcoming it for a while… it was almost a relief, like you were being numbed. I probably would have been lost completely, had I not had my innocence to cling to even in that onslaught of misery. That was like a tiny spark – a flicker that the Dementors could not put out. It was not a happy memory and it wasn't truly emotion – it was just a fact. Even when I welcomed the numbness, they could not take that from me and I could not destroy it myself. Over time, as the years passed and I grew used to my lot, the spark remained… grew into a flame, sometimes strong enough that I could push the Dementors' effects aside, for a time, and let the fire take me. Then, of course, everything else happened.'

He shrugged again. 'Anyway… I was speaking of the wand.'

He cleared his throat. 'Your powers atrophy in prison, from the Dementors and the lack of use. I've done a bit of wandless spellwork since I escaped, a few curses when I had Harry's wand back in the summer and a few spells with that boy's wand the night I tried to get Peter in the Tower… but everything's harder than it was before. It's better, though, with this.' He lifted the new wand again, spinning it lightly in his fingers. 'This one's _mine_ , you know? It recognises me, and it channels the magic more easily. There's still a ways to go, I reckon… but for the first time in years, I don't think it's impossible.'

'I'm sure it isn't,' Remus said fairly. 'It's like nursing an injury, I suppose. You have to work it back up to where it was before. You'll get there.'

Sirius sighed, leaning back into the cushion with his whisky. His hair, still almost shoulder-length even with its recent trim, fell sideways to cover one eye as he flopped; making him look much more like the young man he had been when last they'd sat like this, drinking together. The thought made Remus sad.

'Well, it's better now than it was on Monday. So that's something at least,' Sirius said. He stretched with a yawn, cracking his neck.

'Time for a kip?' Remus mocked. 'Or are you just this out of practise?'

He poured another round as he spoke, smirking.

'Tosser,' Sirius grumbled. He swiped the glass back off the table. 'Wouldn't have thought you went in for mid-afternoon drinks anymore,' he noted over the rim of his tumbler. 'Don't you have students to attend to?'

'Not at the moment,' said Remus. He gestured at the Marauder's Map, which he'd laid out between them on the table. 'This is my only task now, until Easter Holidays are over. My last lesson let out at two.'

'Hmm,' Sirius mused. He took a moment to glance over the map again, but Pettigrew's dot remained stubbornly absent. 'How do you like it – this teaching lot?'

'It's great,' Remus said earnestly. 'It's what I've always wanted, really… and more than I ever thought I'd be able to do. Defence is an interesting subject; the students are fairly enthusiastic, and the lessons are sufficiently challenging.'

'I'll bet you're a good teacher,' Sirius said with a smile. 'Patient… approachable. You're not as wont to lose your temper with the little toerags as I might be.'

Remus gave a modest shrug. 'I do my best.'

They sipped at their drinks for a while, watching the fire grow lower. Even without conversation there was a comfort and familiarly in the company. Though Remus kept a wary eye on the map; though he knew they were far from in the clear; though he knew the man next to him was still hunted ceaselessly by most of the Wizarding World… he felt, just at this moment, like something in his own universe had finally righted itself.

Sirius laughed suddenly, breaking the silence as he poured yet another measure into each of their glasses. The bottle of Firewhisky was halfway gone.

'I never thought I'd have this again,' he said.

Remus raised an eyebrow. 'What? Cheap Firewhisky?'

'No,' Sirius said with a smirk. 'You. I never thought _we_ would do this again… that we would ever repair our friendship.'

Remus felt slightly awkward. He set his Firewhisky down on the table, frowning.

'You know, I am sorry,' he said quietly. 'That I ever suspected you in the first place.'

'Remus…' Sirius started.

'No,' Remus said. 'Hear me out, because I need to say this.'

He waited, but Sirius was silent now; watching him. Remus took a breath and began again.

'I should have known. I know you better than you know yourself, Sirius. _I_ should have realised – even if nobody else did. I should have had faith in you. And I should have _known_ that you would never betray Lily and James. That you would never hand Harry to Voldemort. I will never forgive myself for failing to see –'

'Remus, don't,' Sirius interrupted. His own face was oddly guilt-stricken now. 'It wasn't your fault. You can't blame yourself. It was war, Remus. None of us had our heads on straight. And Remus… _I_ thought it was _you_ ,' he admitted in a whisper.

Remus looked up, surprise and something of hurt on his face.

'I'm sorry,' Sirius said. 'Honestly. I should have known better too. _I_ should have known that _you_ would never do such a thing… and _I_ will never forgive _myself_ … because my unspeakable error was what led to James and Lily using Peter Pettigrew as their Secret-Keeper. Your mistake cost nothing, Remus. But mine? Mine cost two of my best friends their lives.'

Remus reached out a hand, squeezing Sirius' forearm. 'It wasn't your fault,' he parroted back. 'And I don't blame you, Sirius. You're right: it was war. Everything was confusing, dangerous. It could have been any of us that had turned, for all we knew. It _could_ have been me… you had as much reason to suspect that as you did Peter's treachery. None of us were any the wiser. Not me, not you, and not James and Lily. And now… what's past is past, Sirius. All we can do is look to the future.'

Sirius smiled slightly at that. 'I'm meeting him tonight, you know,' he said, excitement clear in his voice.

Remus did not need to ask to whom he was referring. He smiled. 'Harry is a wonderful young man,' he said. 'You'll like him.'

'I love him,' Sirius said.

Like everything else about this man, the statement was unqualified. It came easily. He said it bluntly – a fact he was utterly certain of. As if the twelve intervening years since last he'd known Harry made no difference at all. As if he was popping in for their regular Sunday dinner, absent only for hours, or perhaps a few days. He was so _sure_ … just like he was with everything. It was the biggest difference between Sirius and Remus, really.

Remus lived his entire life in caution. He questioned everything. Perhaps it was a by-product of existence as a monster, or perhaps it was the result of a life spent losing everyone he'd ever loved and knowing he would never have a family of his own… but Remus was guarded in every emotion. He was wary: of others, and of himself most of all.

Sirius was not that way. He never had been. Everything about Sirius was intense. Sirius was bold, sometimes reckless to a fault. He was sure. Even though Sirius had had a difficult life as well; had lost just as many and been through just as dark, very little had ever tempered his resolve as it did Remus'. Sirius lived his emotions – like everything else – in the extreme. He loved, and he hated. And he very rarely confused the two.

Sirius and James Potter had always been similar that way. They'd always had that same sense of self-assuredness; of confidence. Perhaps that was why James and Sirius had been even closer to each other than the four of them were to one another. James had identified with that part of Sirius – had found brotherhood with it. Remus, meanwhile, had always felt for Peter… Peter, like him, longed for inclusion. Longed for acceptance. Always feared that, eventually, someone would see he was not worthy.

Perhaps that was why Remus had not been able to see that Pettigrew had turned traitor… because he'd always had a soft spot for the boy just trying to be good enough. He'd understood what that was… and just how lonely it could be.

'Of course you do,' Remus said out loud. 'He is your godson.'

'Yes…' Sirius said, watching the flames again. 'My godson. I know I can't really think about it. Not until Wormtail is gone. Not until we get him. I _shouldn't_ really think about what might come after. But… it'll be great, you know? Once I'm cleared…'

His face brightened further at the prospect, and Remus smiled as well.

'With Regulus gone, I'm the last surviving Black,' Sirius went on. 'I'll have loads of gold… I can get us a house in the country – you can come! You can live with us, if you want to. Big place, with lots of space. We'll build a pitch in the grounds for Quidditch… and I'll stock the liquor cabinets with something a few notches up from this swill,' he added, brandishing the tumbler of Firewhisky with a roguish wink. 'You, me, Harry… we could be a family, Moony.'

Remus' smile grew strained. 'It sounds lovely, Sirius,' he said, cautiously. 'But… have you really thought this through?'

Sirius frowned. 'What do you mean?' he asked, his voice gaining just a bit of an edge. 'Thought what through?'

'Sirius,' Remus began, 'How much… how much do you know, about Harry? What has Albus told you?'

Sirius set his tumbler down again, turning on the sofa to face him. 'Not much,' he admitted. 'He… he told me he's a good student, talented. He said he's good at Quidditch, like James was. I know he didn't have an easy time of it with those Muggles…'

'No,' Remus cut in. 'He did not. Sirius – they were awful to him. I've been in that house… they treated him like scum, Sirius. They neglected him, kept him downtrodden, used him like a servant. They made him sleep in a cupboard the first ten years he lived there. They never told him about the Magical world. They tried to stifle his magic – keep him from coming to Hogwarts at all. And two summers ago, when Albus paid a call, he found Vernon Dursley had struck Harry hard enough to fracture his cheek. That's when he brought him back to the castle permanently.'

Sirius' face grew hard. He jumped up from the sofa, brandishing his new wand. For a moment, Remus could see the flash of Azkaban take over those grey eyes… and he fleetingly wondered if Sirius might curse him for relaying the information.

' _I'll kill them_ ,' Sirius spat, striding about the room in temper. 'I'll KILL them! Lay a hand on Harry… dare to –'

Remus knew the anger – he had felt it too. And he knew why it affected Sirius so acutely… not only because of his feelings for his godson, but also because Sirius too knew what it was to be ostracised, beaten… hated by your own family.

'Padfoot, calm down,' Remus insisted. He caught a handful of the new black robes as the man swept past him in his ranting pace, and yanked him firmly back to the sofa. 'The Dursleys are not your concern.'

'Not my _concern_?' Sirius sputtered. 'When they've –'

'Albus has it under control,' Remus insisted. 'Harry will never be alone in that house again. I told you this because I think –'

'He should never _be_ in that house again at all!' Sirius growled. 'How could they even _consider_ sending him back, ever? Sod whether or not he's chaperoned… I will not allow –'

'The situation is complex,' Remus cut in. 'You should discuss it with the headmaster, he knows more than I could explain… but there are legitimate reasons that Harry requires their continued involvement in his life, even if it is for but a supervised week each year. Lily's sacrifice will not continue to protect him without regular reinforcement, and Albus is certain that her protection is vital to Harry's safety.'

Sirius ground his teeth in anger. Remus could tell he wanted to continue on the subject… but he moved on all the same. He wanted Sirius to understand – to _really_ understand – before this all spiralled out of control.

So he continued. He told Sirius what had happened since Harry had come to Hogwarts – what he knew of it, at any rate. He explained about the Philosopher's stone. He recounted the Chamber of Secrets' opening the previous year, and how Harry had slain Slytherin's monster and faced a teenage Voldemort. And he spoke of what he'd witnessed since the previous June… of Harry's conviction in his struggle against the Dementors, the conversations they'd had about his parents' deaths and Sirius' alleged involvement, the staggering skill he'd shown in defence and wandless magic.

'So, you're telling me he's damaged, from those wretched Muggles and all this insanity he's had to deal with these past three years?' Sirius asked at last, looking slightly lost as Remus finished his onslaught of information. Their bottle of Firewhisky was nearly dregs now, the fire burning so low it matched the hue of the setting sun through the cracks in the boarded windows.

'He's not _damaged_ ,' Remus disagreed. 'He's actually remarkably put together, all things considered. He is an incredible child. But he has been through a lot, Sirius. He has faced more in thirteen years than most will face in a lifetime.'

'He was never bound for an easy life,' Sirius lamented. 'Born under that kind of stress… Voldemort out for his whole family. And now – he's all they talk about, you know.'

He looked up, his eyes darkening again. 'The Death Eaters,' he clarified. 'The ones that have it within them to speak at all, that is. They mumble to each other through the walls, and through the bars on their doors… I put them into two categories, while I listened. Some want nothing but Harry dead, for defeating Voldemort at all. The others… they hope he will be a powerful Dark wizard too. They think, when he comes of age, he will free them all – lead the charge to the new world order they thought they could get through Voldemort.'

'Harry is not Dark,' Remus said quietly. 'It is not in his nature, even with everything he has suffered. He is like Lily, like James… and like Albus. He is good, Sirius.'

'Of course he is,' Sirius agreed at once. 'You think I believed it? But that's my point… everyone is going to make his life difficult, always. Voldemort will hunt him, and the Death Eaters will hunt him, and he'll never break free from any of it. He'll never be able to reverse that scar on his forehead. He _needs_ a place he can get away from that, don't you see? He needs to have a bit of fun.'

'Harry needs stability, Sirius,' Remus cautioned. 'He is only thirteen.'

'I know,' Sirius said, his voice excited again even through the lingering rage. 'Don't you remember what _we_ were like at that age, Remus? All the mad nonsense we got up to?'

'I do,' he said with the ghost of a smile.

'We could have it again, with Harry,' Sirius went on. 'We could give him that part of life.'

'Sirius, Harry is not like we were, at that age,' said Remus. 'And he is not James, Sirius.'

He said the last very quietly. Sirius' face fell all the same.

'I _know_ he isn't James, Remus,' he grumbled. 'But he _is_ James' son. He's my godson.'

'Yes,' Remus said seriously. 'And he _needs_ parental figures looking out for him. He needs love and fun… he needs the normalcy of growing up. But he also needs discipline, and guidance, and someone to help him navigate safely through life. As you have already pointed out – he is never going to be a normal boy. He needs a different sort of mentor; a different type of parenting. And you cannot be that person, Sirius, if you are trying to make him into your best mate.'

'I'm not going to try to –'

'You've been through a lot,' Remus said, even more cautiously. 'A _lot_. And it's natural that it will take time before you are –'

'I'm not cracked!' Sirius said hotly.

'I never said you were,' Remus contradicted. 'But you're not ready, Sirius. You aren't ready to be what Harry needs – _all_ of what Harry needs – in that sense. There's no way you _could_ be… not right now.'

'Why are you _being_ like this?!' Sirius asked in frustration. He drained the last of his Firewhisky and set the tumbler back onto the low table with more force than necessary. 'I thought you'd be _happy_ with this idea. I thought you'd _want_ us all to be together: you, and me, and Harry…'

'I _do_ ,' Remus said vehemently. 'I do want that, Sirius. But right now… Harry has stability, for maybe the first time in his life. I think, when you meet him and talk with him… when you are dreaming about the future… you need to think about what's best for him, Sirius. I'm not saying to keep away – not at all. You _should_ be a part of his life; a part of that future. You can be, you know, whatever official claim you have over him. But I think you need to consider that what's best for Harry might not be living in a country house with you.'

The words were harsh, and Remus felt badly as soon as he said them. He knew he was hurting Sirius saying these things… but somebody needed to – before Sirius got so far down this mental road that he only hurt himself _and_ Harry more thoroughly in the aftermath. Remus, the werewolf, had spent his life knowing he was unfit for certain things; recognising that having a wife or children was not a path his condition could allow him to take. He'd had decades to come to terms with that reality. Sirius would have to stand in his truth with much less time to adjust… but it was just as important that he face it. Even now, sitting with him this afternoon… Remus knew Sirius was nowhere near ready for the responsibility of raising a teenager, let alone rearing Harry Potter. He needed to heal. He needed to focus, for a while at least, on himself. So Remus forced himself to give the tough advice, for he knew Sirius needed this truth as badly as Harry did.

Sirius was grinding his teeth again. Remus laid a hand gently on his arm, and took it as a good sign that the man did not throw it off.

'I think it is wonderful that you and Harry will have the chance to have a relationship again,' Remus told him honestly. 'I think you will be good for one another. And I… am more grateful than I can possibly say, Padfoot,' he added. 'To have you back again.'

Sirius nodded, offering a half smile though he did not speak an agreement. Remus thought that was all he was likely to get, tonight. And he knew it was time to leave his companion to his thoughts. He squeezed Sirius' arm once and stood, rummaging in the pocket of his robes for the other supplies he'd brought. He emerged with matching phials, and handed one to Sirius.

'Sober up,' he explained at Padfoot's raised eyebrow. 'Minerva won't let you within ten yards of Harry if you show up smelling like a pub.'

Sirius knocked back the phial without complaint. Remus bent to retrieve the Marauder's Map, giving it one last futile perusal before tucking it carefully into his cloak.

'I'll stop in again tomorrow,' he offered, making for the door. 'You can tell me how you get on with Harry.'

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To Harry's surprise, Minerva said nothing to Hermione about their truant behaviour. She merely nodded her head toward the portrait hole and made to leave, Harry following with a curious look for Hermione as he passed her frozen form in the professor's wake.

'Minerva?' he asked in confusion as they entered the deserted corridor. 'Look… I _am_ sorry about Arithmancy. I couldn't help it. Hermione wasn't feeling well, I don't think. She couldn't meet me to go back, so I didn't have a choice, really.'

Minerva stopped, raising an eyebrow. 'What about Arithmancy?' she asked shrewdly.

Harry cringed. _So she_ hadn't _heard_ …

'Er… never mind,' he said quickly. 'I was confused, I suppose.'

To his shock, Minerva did not press him on the obvious lie.

'The headmaster needs to see you,' she said instead, continuing her brisk stride up the corridor.

'Er, okay.'

Though more confused than ever, Harry followed at her heels. He wondered if perhaps Professor Vector had gone straight to Dumbledore instead. Minerva did not say another word throughout the climb, and Harry's trepidation grew with the silence. When at last they reached the familiar door, Minerva knocked softly three times before pushing it ajar.

'Harry,' Albus greeted, walking out from behind his desk and opening his arms in welcome as they entered. 'Come – have a seat.'

Harry obeyed, still feeling as though he were missing something. Professor Vector was not in sight.

Minerva perched herself on the edge of the cushion next to him, while Albus took his usual armchair. Their expressions were rather like they had been the night they'd told him Sirius Black was an animagus. The sense of déjà vu did nothing to ease the growing roiling of his stomach.

'What is it?' Harry demanded.

'This is… not an easy conversation,' Albus hedged. 'But over the past week, certain information has come to light which both Minerva and I feel you have a right to know.'

Harry waited for the headmaster to continue.

'I have discovered Sirius Black,' he said after a moment.

Harry's heart contracted. 'You… you _have_?' he asked, amazed. 'Where? _When_?! Have you told the Ministry? Did the Dementors take him away?'

'No,' Albus said gently. 'I located him in the forest, several days ago. We had a long conversation in the hours that followed. Harry… he is not trying to kill you.'

'I knew it!' Harry muttered. He felt vindicated. 'What was he after, then? Was he trying to take me to Voldemort?'

'No,' the headmaster clarified, shaking his head. 'No… He escaped from Azkaban to come after Peter Pettigrew.'

Harry's confusion returned three-fold over. 'Peter Pettigrew?' he repeated dully. 'But… that's mad. Peter Pettigrew died. _He_ killed him twelve years ago – right after he killed my parents.'

'No, Harry,' Albus said softly. 'He did not.'

'Did not _what_?' Harry retorted fiercely. 'Didn't _kill_ my parents? Maybe not directly… but he sent Voldemort after him, didn't he? You told me so yourself! It comes to the same thing. And he _did_ kill Peter Pettigrew – the whole street saw him do it. Even Fudge was there.'

'It is true that many people saw the Ulster street explode, and that twelve Muggles were killed,' Albus confirmed. 'It is not true, however, that Pettigrew died in the blast, as previously thought. Nor, indeed, did Sirius cause it.'

'I don't understand. What do you mean, he didn't cause it? And why do you keep calling him "Sirius"?' he asked, an oddly panicky feeling joining the bile in his stomach as he registered the continued use of the Christian name. 'He doesn't deserve the compliment…'

The headmaster sighed. 'Peter Pettigrew blew up that street, Harry,' he said. 'Peter Pettigrew killed those twelve people. He cut off his own finger, so that everyone would think him dead as well.'

'That's impossible,' Harry scoffed. 'Why would Pettigrew do that? Why would _anyone_?' He felt his anger rise higher yet again.

'He transformed,' Minerva cut in. 'Changed, into his Animagus form. He did it to escape into the sewer.'

Harry felt ill. _Another_ of his parents friends who was not as he seemed? _Another_ murderer?

'Are you saying,' he asked slowly, 'That Peter Pettigrew killed twelve people just so he could escape Sirius Black? So that Black couldn't murder him too, the way he'd killed my mum and dad? I thought he tracked Black down himself?!'

'No, Harry,' Dumbledore answered. 'That is the crux of the misconception. Pettigrew did not track Sirius down. _Sirius_ tracked _him_ down. Sirius Black never gave your parents up to Lord Voldemort. He went to Ulster that night to hunt Peter Pettigrew, because _Peter_ betrayed them.'

Harry's vision suddenly tunnelled. It was like a huge weight had landed on his chest – pushed him off the edge of the world. He looked between the headmaster and Minerva, hoping one of them would take back the pronouncement. Because it did not make sense.

'What?' he choked out, when neither moved to do so. 'What do you mean? How can that be true? Everyone said – _you_ said – that Sirius Black was my parents' Secret-Keeper. You told me how that charm works: nobody can betray the secret _except_ the Secret-Keeper. So how could Peter have –'

'Peter was the Secret-Keeper, Harry,' Albus explained. 'It was a deception, meant to throw the Death Eaters in the wrong direction. Your parents and Sirius wanted the world to believe they'd chosen him – were hoping that Voldemort would think so as well, if the information on their use of the Fidelius Charm reached him. Sirius hoped to keep Peter and your parents both safe this way. But… he did not know; your parents did not know; _I_ did not know that Peter Pettigrew had already switched sides. _He_ gave your parents' location to Lord Voldemort – not Sirius.'

'But… but then why did he break out of Azkaban now?' Harry demanded, still looking for a way out of this ridiculous, insane explanation. 'Why has he been coming here, if he's looking for Peter Pettigrew? If Pettigrew really _is_ alive? Why was he in Gryffindor Tower that night, if he wasn't trying to come after me? Or the Forest? Why does he want Pettigrew at all? If he was really innocent… if he didn't do _any_ of it… then why didn't he tell anyone?'

'Because I _did_ do it,' a new voice replied.

Harry whipped his head around. A man was coming down the spiralling staircase from the headmaster's personal quarters. The man's hair was shorter than he remembered; his clothing and his face far less filthy… but he was Sirius Black all the same.

Harry stiffened.

'It was _my_ idea for your parents to use Peter Pettigrew instead,' Black continued. 'My mistake that got them killed. I have to put it right. And I came here, Harry, because Peter Pettigrew is here. I came to protect you.'

'Sirius,' Albus began, getting to his feet and looking slightly annoyed. 'I asked you to wait upstairs until I could –'

'What's the point, Albus?' Black interrupted him. 'He's going to have questions for me, anyway. Isn't it better to do this all together? And I… I can't wait any longer. I wanted to see him.'

He had reached the bottom of the stairs now, and he turned to face Harry. His face was lit up with a true smile.

But Harry could not return it. This did not make any sense… _none_ of this made any sense.

'This is mad,' he choked out, looking between Albus and Minerva and refusing to meet the familiar grey eyes of Sirius Black. 'All of this. It _can't_ be true – you know it can't.'

'It is true, Harry,' the headmaster said gently. 'I know it is a shock, believe me. But I also know that you deserve the truth. Just as I should have told you what we thought was the truth about Sirius much earlier, I need to tell you this now. We are – all of us – searching tirelessly for Peter Pettigrew. We will make this right.'

'I _will_ get him,' Black vowed, his smile vanishing into a look of utter conviction. 'I will not let him near you, Harry. Not again.'

Harry's mind was in shambles. If he had been standing, he was sure he'd have fallen by now. Or run.

'Pettigrew,' he repeated, still grasping for the sense. 'But how can he _be_ here. Wouldn't someone have noticed? Even if he's an Animagus – Remus, or –'

'He is a rat,' Black explained. He made to sit on the sofa next to Harry. Harry scrambled away; fearful of the contact. Something twitched in Black's face, but he sat himself in an armchair opposite instead. 'He was in hiding these past twelve years, pretending to be a loveable pet. He was owned by your friend, Harry – the Weasley boy you share a dormitory with.'

Another blow seemed to hit Harry's stomach. He thought he might be sick, or perhaps pass out… He heard Albus mutter something vaguely at his ear… somebody's hands were on his shoulders. Before he could register what had happened, a phial was pressed against his lips. He drank obediently without a thought for the contents. The room came slowly into focus again.

Black was watching him, looking both wary and beseeching. Minerva had taken a place on the sofa now, her hands firmly around Harry's back. Albus was standing above them and stowing the empty phial of whatever potion he'd supplied away again.

'You… you're telling me Peter Pettigrew was _Scabbers_?' Harry clarified when at last he could speak. 'But that's… that's impossible.'

'Is it?' Black asked. 'A rat that lived twelve years? A rat with a missing toe, just as Peter was missing a finger? A rat – no less – that was perfectly placed, hiding among a wizarding family… with access to you in case –'

'I think you have made your point, Sirius,' Minerva cut in.

Her hands tightened protectively over Harry's shoulders, but Harry wished she'd let Black speak. He wanted _all_ the information…

'Pettigrew vanished when he realised Sirius was too great a threat,' Albus said, picking up the tale. 'Your friend, as you told me yourself, believed him dead. We think, however, that Pettigrew is still at Hogwarts. We are searching for him.'

'You… and the Ministry?' Harry asked. 'You've… you've told Fudge now, haven't you?'

The adults all exchanged glances.

'Not yet, Harry,' Albus said. 'Everything we know… it is based on Sirius' account, his memories, and Remus' information. The Ministry will not trust it, even with my backing. If we hope to protect Sirius – hope to clear his name – than we cannot go forward with the claim against Pettigrew unless we are able to capture him. The weight of evidence is against us.'

Harry leaned back a bit into Minerva, as though the contact would ground him. He no longer cared if he looked childish or stupid. Black was watching him closely still, but he had not moved to speak again. Harry brought his own eyes to the headmaster's.

' _You_ believe him, Albus?' he asked, searching the blue gaze. 'You're _sure_ he's telling the truth?'

'I am,' Albus said softly. 'There is a memory Sirius provided that I can show you, if you would prefer… but I would rather not. I think it may be distressing for you.'

'Why can't you give that to the Ministry then?' Harry queried in confusion.

Albus sighed. 'Do you remember when we first spoke of Occlumency?' he asked. Harry nodded. 'Those who are particularly skilled in the mind magics can alter memories – others', and their own. The Ministry is aware of this, and they consider the fact in their determination of a memory's veracity.'

'You're an Occlumens?' Harry asked, shooting a distrustful look at Black.

The man shrugged. 'I am capable of some Occlumency, yes,' he confirmed. 'We were taught as children, in the house I grew up in. But it's not really my cup of tea. I am not particularly gifted in it… and certainly not well enough to create a false memory that might fool the likes of the headmaster.'

'It matters not,' Albus continued. 'The Ministry – believing that Sirius is a Death Eater and knowing his lineage – will chose to wilfully blind themselves. Whatever his memories might reveal, they will not trust the revelation. It is not in their interest to do so… for it would not only unearth their own blunder of twelve years ago, but also create much public embarrassment, not to mention the possibility of mass panic when the world discovers that a Death Eater has been roaming free for more than a decade. It is much easier, from their point of view, to continue to hold Sirius out as the culprit. Our only chance is to secure Peter Pettigrew. Proof of Pettigrew's continued existence, combined with the testimony of Sirius himself and my own and Remus' contributions, will secure Sirius' exoneration.'

'But _you_ believe him?' Harry asked again.

'I do,' Albus confirmed.

'Then… I trust you,' said Harry at last.

It was difficult – more difficult than he could have thought it would be. The headmaster's own voice echoed in his head – the shadow of a conversation held lifetimes ago…

 _Do you trust everyone you love?_

'Harry…'

It was Black's – Sirius' – voice this time. He reached out a tentative hand to rest on Harry's, who did not pull away. The touch was calloused and just a bit too cool to be healthy, but it was familiar all the same. At long last, Harry raised his eyes to meet Sirius'.

'I don't know if they've told you… but I am your godfather,' Sirius said. There was something else in his expression now. Harry thought, perhaps, it was hope.

'I know,' he returned in a whisper.

He smiled, just a fraction.

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'I'm just saying – don't you think it's odd?' Ron went on, leaning across his half-finished Defence essay on vampires to murmur at Harry. Hermione had gone up to her own dormitory to practise Cheering Charms in peace, something she'd been doing frequently throughout the Easter Holidays after missing the lesson the previous week.

Which was too bad, because not only could Harry have used one to calm his churning mind… but it also gave Ron the perfect opening to continue his musings on Hermione's impossible schedule and likelihood of permanent insanity.

'I've already agreed it's odd, Ron,' Harry said in a strained mutter. 'But… there's nothing we can do about it, is there?'

'We can find _out_ , Harry,' he said, as though Harry had gone mad too. 'She _can't_ be attending all those subjects – it just isn't possible. Do you know Ernie MacMillan told me at supper tonight she's never missed a Muggle Studies lesson? How?! Half of them meet the same time as Care of Magical Creatures.'

'How do you know that?' Harry asked sharply. The last thing he needed now was for Ron to start cross-checking timetables… or he too would be on the receiving end of some difficult to answer questions.

Ron shrugged. 'I heard Ernie and Justin talking about the previous week's lesson in Herbology last Tuesday,' he explained. 'But that's not the point. How's she –'

'Look, I've got to get this finished,' Harry said, bending back over his own essay again. 'I'm meeting Dumbledore in an hour, and there might not be time later.'

'Again?' Ron asked, drawn from his obsessive musings at last and raising an eyebrow. 'That's almost every night this week, Harry.'

'Problem?' Harry challenged defensively.

Ron held up his hands. 'No – of course not, mate,' he said in a rush. 'It's just… I'm surprised, is all. But it's a good thing,' he said with a tentative smile. 'You should meet him.'

Harry returned the smile, feeling a bit guilty for his temper. He wasn't really angry with Ron… but all these secrets were starting to wear on him. He was bursting to tell Ron – and Hermione – about Sirius Black. To share the truth. To tell them he'd been meeting Sirius, nearly every night. But telling them about Sirius would mean explaining about Peter Pettigrew… and Albus had forbidden that. To his chagrin, he knew Albus was right on this. Ron would go ballistic if he learned the truth of who'd been kipping on his pillow… and Sirius' freedom was well worth a bit longer with his mouth wired shut.

At least, tomorrow, they'd be back to the regular school schedule. Perhaps lessons and the final few weeks of the Quidditch season would be enough to distract both him and Ron from their chaotic minds.

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'You know, you really do just look just like him – right down to the untidy hair.'

They were seated, as they had been almost every evening that week, in Albus' study. Harry knew Sirius wasn't staying at the castle: Albus had explained about the Shrieking Shack the day they'd first met, and he'd heard ten stories already about the Marauders' adventures from the derelict house in the nights since. But Albus and Minerva, though they wholeheartedly agreed that Harry and Sirius should be allowed to meet, did not want Harry that far from the castle. They'd compromised by sneaking Sirius up to the headmaster's quarters in the evenings instead, so that he and Harry could get to know one another over supper or tea. Remus joined them most evenings, though he was often distracted in staring for countless minutes at the map he'd taken back from Harry in February. He was looking, Harry knew, for Pettigrew's dot. They'd explained that too.

Harry liked Sirius. He was funny and warm. He seemed eager to learn everything about Harry that he could, and they talked for hours into the night… until Minerva or Albus insisted they pack it in. Harry, in turn, yearned just as badly for stories about his parents and the early childhood he could not remember. As he had done with Remus over the summer, he pressed Sirius for whatever scraps he could offer. Given that he'd spent the better part of a year thinking this man had betrayed his family, it wasn't as easy to converse with Sirius as it was when he'd first met Remus… even though, in many ways, Sirius was much more forthcoming with information than Remus was. Harry suspected, in fact, that Remus had taken to joining their evenings as much to supervise Sirius' confidences as to spend time with Harry and his former school mate.

Sirius was obsessed with Peter Pettigrew… but Harry could hardly blame him for that. Harry too wanted Pettigrew caught with the same fury he'd directed at his godfather before he'd learned the truth. He knew Minerva and Albus spent the time the others were together in the office running sweeps of the castle and grounds, and he himself tried to steal glances at the Map whenever he could manage it (a habit Remus highly disapproved of). Nobody – even the more laidback Sirius – wanted him anywhere near the search for Peter Pettigrew.

Harry ran a hand self-consciously through his mop of unruly black hair. Sirius laughed. His laugh, Harry noted, was almost a bark.

'It's ironic, really,' he went on, 'As your grandfather created Sleekeazy's Hair Potion.'

Harry scowled. 'Gilderoy Lockhart used to keep a bottle of that in his office,' he remembered.

'Who's Lockhart?' Sirius asked curiously.

'Never mind,' said Harry quickly. He'd rather not think about their ex-Defence professor; particularly not when there were so many more pressing things to discuss.

'Can you tell me about how –'

'HE'S HERE!'

Remus' roar interrupted his query, and both Harry and Sirius jumped. Remus had risen so forcefully from his chair that he sent it crashing to the floor. Harry – for one split second – did not understand what was going on… But as Sirius leapt to his feet with a muttered oath, unsheathing his wand like a sword, he knew.

The Rat had shown himself, at last.

'Where?' he demanded, rushing over to stare at the map himself.

Remus tore it off the table, already rushing for the door with Sirius at his heels. He fired off three silvery patronuses as Harry and Sirius clambered after him.

'No!' Remus cried, shoving Sirius back as he reached the edge of the room. 'You stay – we can't leave Harry on his own.'

' _You_ stay!' Sirius bellowed. 'He's mine… he's _been_ mine for twelve years!'

'Sirius, you CANNOT BE SEEN!' Remus shouted back. 'I'll send for the others – just stay with Harry and make sure –'

'I'm coming!' Harry and Sirius both spat in unison.

Remus looked between the pair of them. Sirius nodded, pushing forward to brush past Remus.

' _THIS_ is what I meant, Padfoot!' Remus said, grasping Sirius' arm with a fierce glare. 'You want to be the adult? You want to be _responsible_ for him – for his safety? _This_ is what it means! Stay here – keep Harry away from the danger. I'll be back.'

He rushed out without another word, slamming the door behind him.

Sirius watched him go, his face a mask of torture. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then Sirius turned back to Harry. His eyes were wild – more haunted then Harry had ever seen them. He crouched slightly so they were on eye-level and took Harry by the shoulders.

'You will not be safe until he is gone,' he said roughly, his fingers digging into Harry's skin. Even without the talon-like nails, the grip was slightly painful. 'I _must_ get him, Harry. Stay here. Do not move from this room until someone returns.'

'But I –'

Sirius gave a meaningful nod of his head before Harry could finish, releasing him at last. Like Remus before him, he yanked the door ajar so hard it bounced on its hinges. In a flash, he had changed into the dog that Harry remembered… and he tore down the stone staircase and out of sight.

Harry stood framed in the doorway for ten long seconds, listening to the padding footsteps fade away… torn between obedience and vengeance.

'Sod this,' he cursed angrily to himself.

And he slammed the office door, racing down the staircase after the others.

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 37**

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for your review! Glad you enjoyed the chapter – and I'd be happy to provide some explanation if you found the end confusing… just let me know. hope you like Chapter 38!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you liked the chapter and Snape's reactions. Though I definitely agree – Snape's determined blindness in seeing Harry as his own independent person is his greatest weakness. Thanks for the vote of confidence about the ending – I hope you do like it!

 **AECM** : Thanks for your review! I hope you like the continuation.

 **Sopnew** : Thank you for reviewing! Very good to hear you're enjoying the culmination of this book, and I hope you like Chapter 38!

 **Me** : Thank you for the review and the well wishes! Glad you're catching up and hope you enjoy the story. I make no comment on Sirius' fate, for now…

 **Guest** (first Guest review, Chapter 37): Thank you for reviewing! I'm very happy you are liking the story so much and enjoy the character interactions. I promise there will be more of Aberforth in coming instalments… he actually had an appearance in this chapter, but I had to cut it in the editing for purposes of moving along the story. We may see him next chapter, and we certainly shall before the end of the book. I hope you like Chapter 38!

 **Guest** (second Guest review, Chapter 37): Thanks for your review! I _almost_ made end of week-end (pretty close, I think, given that it's about 5:00am on Monday morning here in London…). I'll do my best to get the rest out as quickly as I can. Harry's reaction is included in Chapter 38, so I hope you like that!

 **Guest** (Guest review, Chapter 11): Thanks for reviewing! Hmm… I am guessing you are the same 'guest' who recently reviewed for Part I as well – in which case I am happy you are still interested in the story and hope you continue to enjoy it! I will warn, however, that these stories are not going to have a slash pairing for Harry. Though I completely respect and enjoy that everyone has their own interpretation of the HP universe – both canon and fanfic variants – and I know that many like the M/M pairing idea for Harry, it isn't where I see my character developing (my profile includes an entire section on my thoughts/intentions for HP pairings, if you want more about why I don't see this happening for COH). I think you raise some interesting points about Harry's peers and whether they can ever really understand him… an issue, sadly, that many people face in finding someone they are compatible with. Hopefully when we embark on pairings for Harry in this story, those concerns can be adequately addressed. I definitely don't want to mislead by leaving open the option that this series will end up going in the slash direction with Harry… but I do hope you will continue to enjoy the book regardless!


	39. The Chase The Seeker & The Secret-Keeper

**A/N:** Hello darlings. Phew – well, I was _exhausted_ this past week… but I finally have another for you! I am sorry it was a bit longer in coming than expected. I'm estimating Chapter 40 will post sometime near the end of the week, although I won't promise anything. A great deal of the final portion of Part II has been written for a while now, so I am hopeful that the instalments can be finalised quickly. I can say, with 99% certainty, that there will be a total of 43 chapters in this book.

My responses to those who reviewed last time are at the end, per usual.

Enjoy 'The Chase, the Seeker and the Secret-Keeper', and **please** **read and review!**

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **Chapter 39: The Chase, the Seeker and the Secret-Keeper**

The silvery wolf streaked into Severus' sitting room mere moments after he had shut the door, coming in from his nightly prowl through the grounds. He glared at it, annoyed. He was particularly irritated with the werewolf of late.

Lupin had taken to shutting himself up in the headmaster's rooms almost every evening since the Easter holidays began, with the result that Severus was forced to pace his own quarters when he was not on patrol, waiting for the insipid man to skulk back to his den so that Severus could go and watch that map for himself. He _refused_ to suffer the mutt's company, or look on while Black led the new Potter into further acts of death-chasing. But Albus had insisted that the boy be given time with his _godfather_ … and so Severus had no choice but to pace, and wait.

Lupin had got into the habit of sending a message when they'd finished for the evening – a courtesy for which Severus was grateful and irritated in equal measure. Tonight's was earlier than he had expected. Perhaps Albus did not want his precious Golden Boy over-tired for the resumption of lessons…

But then the Patronus spoke, and Severus' ire gave way to blinding rage.

 _'He is here – seventh floor, west corridor.'_

He bolted for the door before the silvery creature had even vanished, his wand drawn and his robes billowing.

'Where is he?!' Severus hissed, running almost full on into Lupin as he turned a corner off the staircase into the seventh-floor corridor the werewolf's message had indicated.

Lupin shook his head, glancing about wildly. 'He should have been _here_ ,' he muttered. He started pulling aside tapestries and peering around the edges of the suits of armour that lined the path. 'Right here! That's what the map –'

'Give it here!' Severus hissed, pulling the ragged parchment so sharply out of the man's hands that it nearly ripped.

He scanned their portion of corridor, but he did not see a dot labelled 'Peter Pettigrew' anywhere on it.

'You're _sure_?' he asked Lupin, flinging the map back at him. 'I cannot see him anywhere near.'

Lupin's eyes raked over the parchment. 'He's _nowhere_ ,' he muttered as he scanned. 'And that doesn't make sense; it was seconds ago that I –'

'Remus, Severus!'

Albus' voice interrupted them as he and Minerva strode briskly around the corner too. 'Is there any –'

But a savage growl drowned the last of the headmaster's words. The insufferable Animagus too had joined the group. He sniffed eagerly at the edges of a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, his hackles raised.

'I told you to stay put,' Lupin muttered to the dog. ' _Why_ don't you ever taken precau–'

'What the HELL is he doing here?' Severus snapped, glaring from the mutt to the headmaster. Then another disconcerting thought struck him. 'And _who_ is with –'

'Did you get him?'

The voice rang out through the corridor, and Severus whirled to see the foolish child himself thumping toward the group, sweaty faced and panting.

' _Did you find him_?' Potter demanded.

Severus snarled. 'Obviously not, you idiotic brat!' he spat at the boy. 'And _you_ should not be anywhere near this regardless. Get back to Gryffindor –'

'I'm not going anywhere!' Potter retorted hotly. 'Pettigrew _ruined_ my childhood. He took everything from me! I want to be here when he –'

'You insolent little –'

The dog barked loudly, and Severus broke off what was promising to be a glorious rant, whirling back to face the others.

'What is it, Sirius?' Lupin asked.

Severus, whose momentary excitement that the mutt might have found something had faded on seeing his jaws were empty, scoffed. 'Can you speak to canines now?' he mocked. 'Or is your companionship so joyously revitalised already that you are capable of telepathic communication?'

Lupin shot him an irritated glance. 'He can smell him, Severus,' he explained in a voice of forced calm. 'That is why he behaves so.'

'Why use the dog?' the Potions Master countered nastily. 'When we have our very own werewolf in attendance? I thought increased senses were a happy side effect of your condi-'

'Severus – not in the corridors, for Merlin's sake!' Minerva reproached.

'Is he here?' Potter put in again, beginning to pace the scene with his wand drawn. 'Is he? Can you find him, Sirius?'

Albus, meanwhile, had his own wand out. He was murmuring long streams of incantation; brightly coloured beams shooting about the corridor and reflecting off the armour.

'Give me the map again!' Severus spat, trying to ignore Potter's presence as he focused on finding the traitor.

Lupin handed it over distractedly, heading to crouch next to the insufferable mutt in his search. Severus scoured the sea of black ink dots, but he could not locate Pettigrew anywhere among them… neither in their corridor nor anywhere else in view.

'I cannot find a trace of his continued presence,' Albus determined, stowing his wand again. He exchanged a grim glance with Minerva.

'Does that mean he's gone?' Potter demanded. 'But that's… how did he escape? It's only been minutes since you said he was here, Remus.'

His irritation taking hold again, Severus whirled to lambast Potter once more.

'You should have been nowhere near here,' he repeated. 'The fact that the wolf and your _godfather_ have allowed you to run wild through the castle _again_ is yet further proof of their inadequate ability to –'

'I did nothing of the sort,' Remus disagreed angrily, straightening from his canine companion. 'I told both Harry _and_ Sirius to remain in the headmaster's study.'

The dog gave a growl, though he did not turn his head from the continued sniffing of the floor. Albus shot a sharp glance at Black.

'Sirius, you should not be wandering the school in any form,' he reminded him sharply. 'And Harry –' he turned toward the child – 'You know I would not have given permission for you to leave my study tonight. You should have listened to Remus.'

'Why?' Potter challenged, crossing his arms over his chest. 'I _deserve_ to face him, Albus. He killed my mum and dad!'

'Keep your voice down,' Minerva shushed in a hiss. She looked up and down the corridor anxiously. 'And do not cheek the headmaster, Harry.'

'There is a time and a place for answers,' Dumbledore said to the boy. 'But it is not achieved by putting yourself into danger. This is a conversation we have had before… and you know perfectly well why we would choose to keep you away from this corridor tonight.'

'There'd have been four adults here, even if Sirius hadn't come,' Potter pointed out. 'It wasn't as if I was going to –'

'Will you _cease_ your childish whinging?' Severus spat impatiently at the brat. 'Not that I am at all opposed to disciplining Potter's recklessness,' he added to the headmaster, 'But there is a more pressing matter at hand. Perhaps we can send the boy back to where he ought to be and deal with finding our quarry.'

'Minerva?' Albus asked, turning to his deputy. She nodded.

'Come, Harry,' the professor insisted, putting a firm hand on his shoulder and steering the student away. Potter still looked mutinous, but even he seemed to be able to tell protesting would be fruitless. Or, perhaps, he could sense as well as the rest of them that tonight's chase would yield no results.

They stayed at the search for a quarter of an hour, but all Severus gained was a growing ache in his temple – which he attributed as much to prolonged exposure to the mutt and the wolf as he did the lack of success in locating Pettigrew. Black continued to pace the corridor, sniffing and occasionally growling at odd corners. Lupin alternated between tailing the dog and scouring the map. Severus and Albus, meanwhile, cast various detection charms with fading hope, until at last the headmaster called an end to the endeavour.

'If he was here,' Albus said, 'Than he has certainly gone. I do not think there is much else we can do, tonight.'

' _If_ he was here,' Severus grumbled, shooting a distrustful glance in Lupin's direction.

The werewolf did not miss it. 'He _was_ here,' he insisted. 'I saw him – it was definitely Peter. I don't know how he could have vanished again…'

Black snarled.

'Take your pet back to his hideaway,' Severus suggested cuttingly, turning for the stairs in disgust. 'Before someone decides he's rabid.'

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Harry supposed he was lucky, on the whole, that Minerva had handed out the punishment instead of Snape. Though spending hours writing endless lines and listening to her lecture him until she'd grown hoarse had been far from pleasant, at least he hadn't had to pick congealed frog guts out from under his fingernails again.

Not that Snape had been content to let Harry receive his due from Minerva alone… he'd made Potions even more exceedingly unpleasant than usual of late, and Harry had been so weary by the end of their second Wandless lesson after the holiday that he rather thought Snape's idea of punishment might be putting Harry into Hospital Wing for the rest of term – something the Potions Master usually took annoyingly great strides to avoid in their tutorials.

'At least there would be far less chance of your escaping Madam Pomfrey's clutches than the mutt's foolish care,' Snape spat, when Harry had unwisely voiced this opinion aloud near the end of April. He thrust a second Invigoration Draught begrudgingly into the boy's hand, before taking thirty points from Gryffindor for Harry's impertinence.

Remus had cancelled their meetings for the time being – ostensibly because he thought Harry ought to be focusing on his regular lessons now that exams were drawing near and he had mastered the basics of the spell. Harry suspected, however, that Remus had done it to better keep a watch on the Map for Pettigrew. He'd seen the professor's constant distraction, even in the Gryffindor Defence lessons, as his eyes swept relentlessly over the old parchment. Remus hadn't laid into him quite as badly as the others… but Harry knew that was because he'd saved the bulk of his own wrath for Sirius. His godfather had told him as much, when they'd met up for the first time since the fateful events a week into the resumption of term.

Harry himself did not have much time to wallow in his recent disgrace… for Quidditch fever had taken over the school once more. The final match – Gryffindor v. Slytherin – was to take place on the second Saturday after the Easter holidays, and the school could talk of nothing else. Malfoy's team led the standings by two hundred points; their superior brooms clearly having done their job in their previous two matches. It made Harry's task in the final even more difficult, for he would have to time his capture so that –

'We must be _more than_ fifty points up!' Oliver Wood reminded him for about the twelfth time as Friday's final practice drew to a close. ' _More_ than fifty points, or else –'

'We win the match but lose the Cup,' Harry finished for him, rolling his eyes. 'I _know_ , Oliver. You've said it a million times now.'

'So we have to be sixty –'

'I KNOW, OLIVER!' Harry shouted, his voicing echoing across the darkening pitch. Madam Hooch, who had been watching them practise, gave a disapproving titter.

'Right then,' Wood said with a terse nod. 'Let's go, everyone. And wands out!'

They trudged back up to the castle and through the corridors in a close-knit huddle. This had been Wood's requirement for much of the past week: no member of the team was to travel alone through the school. With the enmity between Gryffindor and Slytherin at an all-time high and the Quidditch Cup on the line, there had already been several nasty incidents this month. Tonight, Harry thought he saw Marcus Flint sulking around a corner as they crossed the entrance hall, but nobody attempted to curse their scarlet pack as they made their way slowly up to the Tower.

It was tedious, marching through the school like this… but Harry did not complain. As the Seeker and as Harry Potter, he already faced an abnormal amount of pre-match heckling and mischief even before a normal match. In the lead-up to the match that would decide this year's Cup, he could hardly walk to lessons without jumping legs meant to trip him in the corridors or skirting groups of older Slytherins waiting for an opening. And he had not forgotten Malfoy's attempt to sabotage him in the match against Ravenclaw.

So he allowed Wood's over-caution without complaint. The whole House was keen to participate in 'defending' the Gryffindor Quidditch players… and Harry himself had appealed to Mina to place a few of her own charms around his trunk so that his Firebolt could not be tampered with.

When they finally reached the Tower tonight, it was to find most of the House in excited buzz about the upcoming match – lounging in chairs by the fire or settled into chat at the various tables in the Common Room. Even Hermione had cleared her usual workspace, biting anxiously at her fingernails as Ron and Neville debated Flint's chances of foul play and Angelina's skill with a penalty shot at the table next to her. All three whipped round as Harry approached.

'All sorted, then?' Ron asked anxiously, pulling out a chair for Harry to fall into.

Harry shrugged. 'Reckon so,' he replied. 'Can't do anything else for practise now…'

'It'll be fine, Harry,' Hermione put in – her voice thin and cracked.

'You've got a Firebolt!' Ron added bracingly.

'You'll be brilliant,' Neville said confidently, tossing him a chocolate frog from a stash to his left. 'Have something to eat, Harry, you barely touched supper.'

Harry unwrapped the sweet with a nod of thanks, nibbling on the head. He never could eat much when his nerves were prickling.

'Chuck us some of that pumpkin juice, Gin,' Ron called, leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on the table to get his sister's attention a few tables away.

Ginny Weasley raised an eyebrow but obediently poured a glass from their pitcher, walking it over to the third form students.

'Thanks,' said Harry, taking the juice from her.

'Good luck tomorrow,' she said, flushing a bit but smiling. 'I wish I was playing… should be a great match.'

Ron gave a snort as his chair legs thumped back to the ground – Hermione having pushed his feet off the table with a mild scolding.

' _You_?' he queried, looking at Ginny. 'When have you ever played at Quidditch?'

The scarlet in Ginny's cheeks intensified, but this time Harry suspected the flush was more in anger than embarrassment. 'Just because _you_ won't let me fly with the rest of you out back,' she retorted, spinning to glare at her brother, 'Does _not_ mean I don't know how to do it!' she spat. 'I'll have you know, I was the best in our form! I'd try for Chaser now, if there was an opening on the team.'

'You should next term,' Harry said fairly, ignoring Ron's sputtering. 'Only Wood's leaving this year, but the next captain might hold open trials anyway. Some Houses do… it's not always good to keep playing the same roster when there might be new talent.'

Ginny shrugged. 'Maybe,' she said noncommittally. Ron snorted again and her eyes flashed. 'Or maybe I'll go out for _keeper_ ,' she added, glaring again at Ron. 'Now that Wood's finished. They'll need someone good in that spot.'

She stalked back toward her table without another word, leaving Ron to glower at her retreating back.

'Keeping and Chasing are total opposites,' Ron grumbled. 'She can't be _that_ good if she hasn't worked that out.'

'Mmm… but it's all flying, isn't it?' Hermione opined, floating Harry's sweet wrapper toward the rubbish bin in the corner with her wand.

The boys all gave her exasperated looks.

'That's like saying Transfiguration and Divination are the same, because it's all magic,' Ron criticised when his indignation allowed him speech again. He shook his head, frowning toward his sister's table again.

Hermione waved an impatient hand. 'Are your, er, friends coming to the match, Harry?' she asked keenly.

Harry nodded. 'Yeah, I think so. Last I heard anyway.'

'Who?' Neville asked curiously.

Harry hesitated. He didn't know whether speaking of the headmaster's brother was a good idea…

'Er, Bathilda Bagshot,' he said – truthfully – instead. 'And a friend of hers, I think.' Neville made an impressed noise. 'You know her?' Harry added.

'Ooh, yeah,' Neville said, nodding. 'Famous historian. Gran's had her round for tea a few times, though I'm not sure how they met. She's got to have sixty years on Gran, if not more…' he frowned, a finger at his mouth. 'But how do _you_ know her, Harry?' he asked.

Harry shrugged. 'I don't really… or not much,' he hedged. 'She used to live next door to us – to my parents… when I was small. I don't remember her much from then, but apparently she used to childmind for them on occasion. She got in touch in the autumn, wanted to come round and see a match.'

Neville's gaze grew sympathetic. 'That's amazing, Harry,' he said – a hint of longing in his voice. 'I never knew she lived in Godric's Hollow. You should talk with her, she might have stories. Someone who knew your parents like that… it's a gift, Harry.'

A faded voice echoed in Harry's head… his mother's voice; from one of the memories he'd watched over the summer, speaking as she took a baby Harry back from the headmaster's arms…

 _'I don't know what we would have done – with the boys working until supper and the Longbottoms out of town.'_

Had his mum and dad known Neville's parents? Had he, Harry, known _Neville_ , as a small child?

Where _were_ Neville's parents? Harry knew Neville had been raised by his grandmother, but he had never asked why. That seemed odd to him, now, having known Neville for the past three years. How could he not have asked how Neville had come to live with his grandmother… never bothered to find out what had happened to bring him there in the first place? Had they died, like James and Lily, in the war against Voldemort?

Had Neville too grown up without them; dreamed about them; wondered what they would have done or said or thought as their son grew up?

'Harry… you alright?' Neville asked.

Harry shook himself. Neville, Ron and Hermione were all peering at him closely, looking concerned.

'Yeah,' he said, clearing his throat against the well of emotion and questions. 'Yeah, I –'

'Team – Bed!' Wood shouted, standing up against the centre hearth with his miniature model of the Quidditch pitch tucked under his arm.

Harry welcomed the order as he climbed automatically to his own feet. He gave a forced smile.

'Bit nervous, I suppose,' he half-lied as he reached for his bag. 'Ought to turn in.'

And he followed the male members of the team up the staircase, forcing his mind onto the match once more.

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'Budge up there, old man,' a gruff voice said to his left.

Albus moved politely a few steps to the right, making room for his grumbling brother and little Bathilda Bagshot.

'You do realise that three years is hardly a heartbeat when one passes one hundred?' he commented lightly as Aberforth flung his cloak over the back of the bench in the high box. Albus scooted back so Minerva could slide by, engaging Batty in conversation in moments.

Aberforth shrugged. 'There are more ways to be old than added years, Albus,' he noted.

'Indeed,' Albus agreed.

'How long until they get started?' Aberforth asked as he peered down at the pitch.

'Just a few minutes more,' the headmaster answered.

He had to speak quite loudly. The entire school had packed into the stadium to watch the final, and a thousand excited voices battled each other to be heard through the din. Many heads flicked toward their box at regular intervals, aiming for a glimpse of the silver Cup where it gleamed in the sunlight on its pedestal in the corner. Albus watched as Madam Hooch made her way onto the pitch, the chest of balls floating along in front of her.

'I'd better get on to Jordan,' Minerva put in, leaning across Bathilda so that the headmaster might hear her. 'A Gryffindor-Slytherin final… he'll need constant watching.'

She shook her head in apparent exasperation, but Albus could not help a grin. If she truly minded the sometimes-colourful commentary… she'd have wrenched the megaphone from Lee Jordan's hands years ago. Albus suspected the teenager sometimes voiced the thoughts that Minerva's dignity and position would not allow her to utter herself.

'Of course,' he said, inclining his head. Minerva whispered something further into Batty's ear, and swept off toward the Gryffindor section of the stands.

'Better get a move on, or this lot's likely to grow bored with heckling alone,' Aberforth advised, scanning the crowd of scarlet and green with a frown.

Albus sighed. 'I shall never understand it,' he admitted. 'But you should have seen breakfast this morning… _twenty_ incidents in two hours alone, and all for a piece of silver.'

Bathilda made a noise like Minerva might have done. 'Quidditch is _life_ , Albus,' she said seriously. 'There are few days more important in a pupil's Hogwarts experience than the Final.'

Albus shook his head in vexation, but he was saved his reply as a roar from the stands announced the arrival of the competing teams.

'Merlin, he looks titchy out there,' Aberforth muttered, leaning over the edge of the box for a better view. Bathilda – so much tinier – was bent so far over the rail that Albus wondered whether he ought not cast a sticking charm to keep her from tipping into freefall.

'You ought to have seen him two years ago,' he replied. 'He was not half the size of many of his opponents… perhaps now you will understand my own reservations about this ridiculous sport.'

'Stop your tosh, Albus,' Batty chastised. She dug out a pair of what Albus recognised as omnioculars as Lee Jordan began to announce the names to tumultuous applause. 'Children have been flying since they invented broomsticks. And no child has ever been permanently injured in a Hogwarts match.'

Aberforth gave a low chuckle. 'She would know, Albus,' he pointed out fairly.

The headmaster was not amused. 'Whisper near the goblin's lair…' he said darkly.

Below them on the pitch, the captains were gripping hands while their respective teams mounted their brooms. Madam Hooch released the catch on her chest, and the sun flashed off the glass in Harry's spectacles as he turned his face skyward – watching the little golden Snitch streak out of sight. There was a single blast of the whistle… and the fifteen brooms shot up into the air.

'Ah, I've missed this,' Bathilda said longingly. Her head whipped back and forth as she trained her omnioculars in all directions, trying to keep the action in sight. 'Not the calibre of the professional matches, of course – but Hogwarts has always turned out skilled players.'

'I think the boy with the mic has a point,' Aberforth put in as he squinted up with his arms crossed. 'The Snakes have gone for brawn over broomstick, seems like. Might be they've got gorillas there as Beaters. You ought to mount an inquiry, Albus.'

'And yet, it is _Slytherin_ who sit first in the Hogwarts league,' a waspish voice replied in a hiss.

Both Albus and Aberforth turned to see Severus slipping into the box from behind. The barman and the professor shared mutual looks of loathing. Bathilda, muttering to herself as she continued to watch the match unfold, did not appear to notice the new arrival.

'Way I hear it, the boy's the best one out there,' Aberforth retorted in a grunt. 'So unlikely that honour will hold, _Snape_. Would've thought you'd be slinking round with your own House to watch the slaughter though… or was my company to tempting to resist?'

'Aberforth, really…' Albus began.

Severus' upper lip curled back in a mirthless smirk. 'Oh I assure you I have no intention of watching the match at your side,' he said silkily. 'But I have a message to relay to the headmaster before I take my own place.'

'Always was fond of your messages,' Aberforth mocked. 'Your information comes from such _interesting_ sources…'

'Aberforth, please,' Albus said, shooting an admonitory glance at his brother before stepping slightly to the side. 'What is it you wish to tell me, Severus?' he asked the Potions Master.

'Merely that Lupin will not be attending the match,' he said in a bored voice. 'He met me in the corridor after my patrol had ended, and he wishes to watch that the Rat does not take advantage of the absence of the rest of the school. He will remain with the map, and sends his regrets.'

Albus inclined his head. 'A wise decision, on the whole,' he opined. 'Though I am sorry Remus will miss Harry's final match of the term.'

'Yes, tragic,' Severus mocked. 'If there is nothing else, headmaster…'

Albus nodded, and Severus swept away toward the Slytherin stands.

'Odious little slime ball,' Aberforth spat as Albus re-joined the group at the railing. 'If your boy bests his minions today, I'll –'

'Aberforth, I do wish you would cease your remonstrations on Severus,' Albus interrupted wearily. 'He is not the man he was that night.'

'Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots, Albus,' the barman rebuffed. 'You keep a watch on him, or I'm warning you…'

'TEN-NIL TO GRYFFINDOR!'

There was a roar from the scarlet supporters, and the rest of his brother's sentence was drowned out. Albus clapped politely as Angelina Johnson took a victorious lap in celebration, then winced as the Slytherin captain went careening into her.

The crowd's boos were nothing to the roar of Aberforth's oath at his ear.

'School children, Aberforth,' he reminded him sharply, as several heads flicked toward their box.

'Blatant foul, Albus!' Aberforth growled back.

Fred Weasley apparently agreed, for before Madam Hooch's whistle had even sounded, his Beater's club thunked off the back of Flint's head, smashing the captain's nose into the handle of his broomstick.

'And this is why Quidditch unnerves me,' said Albus simply.

There was a brief pause in the match as the referee zoomed between the flyers to sort out the mess and shout at the perpetrators, awarding each team a penalty shot.

'Twenty points up!' Batty squeaked gleefully, clapping along with the stands as Wood saved the chance at his own goal. 'How many did you say Gryffindor need to win the Cup?'

'Fifty-one, before the Snitch,' Albus replied. 'They are two-hundred points behind at the moment.'

'Sixty then, as the goals are ten apiece,' Batty calculated aloud. 'My word, this could get interesting.'

It did indeed. Not ten minutes later, the Lions scored their third goal of the match on a second penalty shot, this one induced by Montague's highly dangerous seizure of Katie Bell's head instead of the Quaffle. Minerva was having an increasingly difficult time restraining Lee's angry commentary, though by the fire Albus could see in her own expression he doubted she would put forth a fight much longer.

'That was nasty,' Batty agreed anxiously. Her eyes were pressed so tightly to the brass that Albus thought the omnioculars were likely to leave marks. Aberforth was cursing beside him again, though thankfully in a less booming voice.

Harry suddenly went tearing off up the pitch, bent low over his broomstick. Albus leaned over the rail himself to watch as Draco Malfoy followed immediately.

'Not yet!' Batty squealed as she tracked them. 'They need thirty more!'

'It's a feint,' Aberforth said confidently. 'Boy's not an id-'

There was a strangled cry from the masses below and Albus' fingers clenched over the rail as Harry's broom gave a hairpin swerve, a bludger missing his skull by millimetres. A moment later he was pulling the other direction, as the second Beater's strike grazed his left elbow.

'They'll hit him,' he murmured in panic, as both enormous Slytherin players went haring toward the Seeker, arms raised and clubs at the ready…

But Harry was quicker. He jerked the broom upward at the last moment, and two would-be attackers collided in a tangle of wood and limbs.

Aberforth cheered with the swell of Gryffindor supporters. 'He's better than I'd thought,' he commented to Albus, watching as Harry took to the air high above the action again.

'He's brilliant,' Batty agreed. She lifted her gaze from the omnioculars at last to give Albus a warm smile. 'Might be better even than his father.'

As the morning grew later and brighter, the play on the pitch swelled to levels of vindictive fury Albus had rarely witnessed before, even between these two rival Houses. Harry's besting of their beaters did not sit well with the Slytherin team, who retaliated with the strongest offensive they had shown thus far. Barely a minute later, Marcus Flint put the first Slytherin goal of the match through Oliver Wood's right hoop, giving the sea of emerald something to celebrate.

'Makes it more exciting, when it's close,' Bathilda offered, as Lee Jordan wrestled with Minerva for control of the megaphone again.

Aberforth grunted a disagreement. 'You watch,' he said sagely. 'This'll turn far more nasty before it's finished.'

Albus could tell he was correct. By the time the match reached close to ninety minutes of play, both the Slytherin and Gryffindor teams had taken on several additional penalties apiece – clubs flailing far wide of Bludgers and elbows and knees making suspicious collision with opponents' faces. The score was now 40-10 in Gryffindor's favour, but Albus knew that the tide of the match could shift at any moment.

Harry had not had much to do since his spectacular dodge from the attack of the Slytherin beaters. He was soaring round and round the pitch, above most of the dangerous play, with Draco Malfoy in constant pursuit. Gryffindor managed to keep their advantage, and the House supporters' enthusiasm reached new heights as the score crept up to the seventy-ten lead they needed.

'Where's the Snitch?' Bathilda ranted, hopping up and down on her tiny feet. 'This is it – they'll win if Harry can –'

'He's seen it!' Aberforth shouted.

And it seemed he had. Harry was rising higher still, a tiny fleck of gold just visible several yards above him…

'That _BLOODY_ scumbag!'

The Snitch disappeared again: Draco's effort to curtail Harry's capture by physically restraining his broomstick paying off.

Albus did not even chastise Aberforth for his crass bellow this time. He could feel his own fury pounding too loudly to risk speech; and the crowd's nearly-unanimous reaction drowned the worst of the barman's anger regardless.

Minerva, he noticed, had finally abandoned her attempts to censor Lee's commentary. She looked even more furious than he did: her cheeks as scarlet as her rosette and her hair blowing about her face as she shouted up at Malfoy too.

'Keep it together, keep it together!' Batty muttered anxiously. 'If you go to pieces now, it only encourages them!'

She was quite right. The Gryffindors – infuriated by the thwarted victory – were starting to lose their nerve. Alicia missed the awarded penalty, and the Slytherin return finished in another goal.

Harry had reversed the positions of the Seekers. Rather than allowing Malfoy to tail him as he flew, he was now marking Draco so closely their knees were nearly touching. Albus could see them sniping at each other even from the box.

'That's not on!'

It was Batty who was shouting this time. Angelina Johnson was streaking toward the goal posts, set to take the shot… and from all around her, six Slytherin players were converging to stop her from scoring…

Harry dove at last. But this time, he wasn't going for the Snitch. He tore through the mass of green with a roar like a war cry, sending the blockers scattering. Angelina put the Quaffle through, but –

'Argh, acting the hero never pays off, you fool!' Aberforth snarled, hands above his head in exasperation.

Albus gave him a sideways glance, but he did not have a chance to contradict. All eyes were on the centre of the pitch now, where Draco Malfoy had gone into a steep dive… arm outstretched toward the Snitch that was bobbing almost level with the ground.

Harry hurried to follow, a look of sheer panic on his face that changed almost at once to determined concentration. His dive was even sharper than Draco's had been – so close to vertical that Albus feared fleetingly he might tumble headfirst off the broom… He was pressed flat to the handle from navel to nose, his right hand reaching out as he drew even with the Slytherin Seeker… and…

'He's _done_ it!' Batty cried, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as Harry soared upwards once again, his fist clenched around the struggling golden ball. 'That was unbelievable – truly. What a match!'

Aberforth was wolf-whistling, pounding the edges of the box. Minerva had clutched a terrified-looking Lee Jordan round the neck, sobbing unabashedly onto his shoulder as he continued to attempt to shout the results through the exploding crowd. The Gryffindor team embraced in a tangled weave of scarlet mid-air, sinking back down to earth where swarms of their supporters were rushing the pitch.

'We must go down,' said Albus, trying to keep his own voice dignified through his private elation. 'It is tradition to present the Cup…'

Bathilda flicked her wand at the corner pedestal, and Albus caught the gleaming Cup by its base as she floated it to him. He let her precede them out of the box, following with Aberforth.

'Your boy did it,' his brother muttered quietly as they pushed through the curtains. 'Pulled that one out of you know where… absolute skin of his teeth. I thought he was lost for certain.'

'Yes,' Albus agreed, with slightly less joy than he'd had a moment before. 'And that, most unfortunately, does seem to be his signature finish.'

He hitched a beaming smile back on his face, and stepped onto the platform to greet the victorious team.

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'You should have stayed after the match!' Harry said, clutching his tea as he sat across the pub table from Bathilda and Aberforth next day.

They'd met up about noon: early enough that the barman could still keep business as usual, as the Hog's Head was not usually crowded much before mid-afternoon. Harry had barely had a chance to greet either of them the previous day in the post-match chaos, but he was grateful Bathilda had decided to stay the night in the village so they might spend a few hours on Sunday together before she headed back to Godric's Hollow.

They'd talked the match through play by play, both Bathilda and Aberforth showing much more enthusiasm for the sport than the headmaster usually did. Albus and Minerva had joined for tea as well. Albus smiled indulgently at the Quidditch chatter. Minerva, meanwhile, was still prone to tears of happiness and regularly clutched at Harry's arm in pride. She hadn't even come up to tell them off for their raucous festivities in the Tower the night before… which told Harry more than anything just how excited she'd been to secure the silver Cup. He'd noted she sat next to Severus in the Great Hall this morning as well…

Rubbing it in, he suspected. Just a little.

Bathilda smiled as she dropped a slice of lemon into Harry's tea for him. 'We wanted to give you the chance to celebrate with your friends,' she told him. 'This worked out well – a chance to chat with you after you'd slept off some of the initial excitement.'

'Or the drink,' Aberforth put in with a chuckle.

Minerva's eyes flashed dangerously. 'Harry is thirteen,' she reminded him in a hiss. 'If I _ever_ find him with more than a butterbeer in _my_ Tower, he will be on restriction until he comes of age.'

Harry flushed. 'I haven't,' he assured her in a mumble.

Aberforth chuckled harder. 'Batty could tell you stories, boy…'

He turned to Minerva with a mischievous smirk. 'Do you want to know how old _Albus_ was, Minnie, when our mother caught him with –'

'I think we would do better returning to the subject of the match,' Albus cut in loudly. 'Minerva, what was it you were saying last night about Oliver's prospects for the summer?'

Minerva took a gulp of tea that might have been hiding a giggle. She coughed and sputtered for a moment before she was able to answer the query.

'There was a scout from Puddlemere United at the Final,' she informed the table. 'He asked permission a few weeks ago to come and size up the talent – a few of their squad are getting on in years now.'

'Decent team,' Bathilda observed with a nod. 'Only one older than the Harpies in the league. Their side's been a bit off these past three years or so, but historically they're always in the top of the standings.'

Albus nodded pensively. 'They were my father's team,' he observed softly.

Harry shot him a curious look. Dumbledore almost never mentioned any of his family. His father, perhaps, he spoke of least of all… except of course for Ariana.

Aberforth was scratching at his beard. 'They want the Keeper, then?' he asked Minerva.

She nodded. 'Seems so,' she said. 'Oliver's keen to join up somewhere – he's been at my door three times a month since his fifth year, looking for information on trials and asking for recommendations to scouts. I didn't tell him Goldfinch was coming yesterday. I couldn't get his hopes up, just in case.'

'But he liked him?' Harry asked eagerly. He knew that Oliver would just about burst with joy if he were taken on by a professional Quidditch team… joining the League was his dearest ambition.

'He did,' Minerva affirmed with a smile. 'I think he'll have him for the reserves, for now. Their regular Keeper has a season or two left in him… but I should think he'll do well if he stays as driven as he is at the moment.'

'He'll be brilliant,' said Harry loyally.

'He was a wonderful Keeper,' Batty agreed. 'Two saves on penalty yesterday… and those are always the most difficult shots.' She turned to Harry. 'Of course, _you_ might well have been the best on the pitch,' she told him. 'A true prodigy, Harry. Your father would have been so proud.'

She ruffled his hair fondly. Despite his awkwardness in their first meeting the previous autumn, Harry found he had already grown used to Bathilda's familiar manner. He grinned back at her.

'Thanks,' he said in embarrassment.

'He asked after you as well,' Minerva said, suspiciously casual. Harry whipped his head back to her so quickly that vague spots danced across his vision.

' _What_?!' he stammered, shocked. 'He asked about _me_? The scout? But I'm only in third form! And I… I'm not good enough for the professional league…'

'How do _you_ have charge of someone so modest?' Aberforth ribbed his brother, rolling his eyes.

Harry ignored the headmaster's retort, still staring at Minerva.

'Did he really?' he demanded again.

She smirked. 'He did. Of course, he realises you are still four years out from any possibility of professional play… but he wants to keep an eye on you. Don't look so dumbfounded, Harry,' she added, shaking her head as he stammered. 'You really are uniquely gifted on a broomstick. I shan't be surprised if you're entertaining offers from half the League when it comes time for you to leave school. If you wish to entertain a professional career in sport, of course.'

A wonderful vista of possibilities was emerging in Harry's imagination. He wondered what it would be like – if his _job_ was to fly, all day every day… to play Quidditch around the country; maybe even around the _world_ … He imagined what it might feel like to hear his name announced through an enormous stadium, like the one they'd visited in Edinburgh… to rush onto the pitch to a roar of applause, the English colours on his back…

'A lifetime of Quidditch,' Albus said with a tragic sigh. 'And here I thought my anxiety had a certain expiration date.'

Harry smirked, turning to him. The words were said in jest… but, as Harry caught the headmaster's eye, he found he his laughter died in his throat. Though Albus was smiling, his expression was curiously closed off – almost guarded. Perhaps it was only because Harry knew him so well; but the absence of a twinkle in Albus' gaze gave him the sudden feeling that he'd swallowed something off.

He remembered Pettigrew… and Voldemort. Still out there, somewhere. Still biding their time…

 _Still hunting him._

He was fooling himself. How could he ever have a normal life, if there remained a chance that Voldemort would come for him again? If, as Albus believed, his return was bound to occur eventually… and Harry remained top of his kill list?

How could he play at Quidditch and zoom about the globe… when at the moment he was not even permitted in the Hogwarts grounds on his own?

'You _don't_ have to play, Harry,' Minerva went on. Apparently, he'd been quiet a touch too long. 'I was only teasing.'

Harry forced himself to laugh, tearing his gaze from Dumbledore. 'I think it'd be wicked,' he assured her truthfully.

And he let the chatter resume around him, careful not to let his mind explore less savoury paths.

'So…' Harry dared to ask as they approached the oak front doors several hours later, 'How old _were_ you, Albus?'

The headmaster merely smiled, his eyes twinkling. Harry did not need to direct Dumbledore's attention to the previous conversation… he knew Albus would not have forgotten.

'Not old enough,' he said enigmatically. 'But some stories, my dear boy, are better kept untold.'

Harry had enjoyed the several hours of banter over tea with Batty and Aberforth. But he missed Sirius.

He knew that Albus had allowed him to go to the match, hidden away as Padfoot under the stands to watch the action. He'd received a note of congratulations late that same night, and was unsurprised that Hedwig seemed informed enough on the secret to carry the correspondence. He read it by wandlight behind the curtains of his four-poster. The note was unsigned… but Harry knew immediately who had sent it all the same.

He wished he'd been able to see Sirius in person, but since the Easter holidays had ended and he'd spent the next few weeks on restriction, Albus had only allowed the single visit the previous Saturday. He'd promised Harry on their walk into the village, however, that he would set aside some time later that week.

Harry compromised his discontent by stopping in to say hello to Remus on his return to the castle, where he spent another two hours giving him a play-by-play recap of the match he'd missed. Remus, to Harry's disappointment, had not had any luck with the map in his absence.

When he at last returned to the Tower, it was to find Ron waiting at the portrait hole.

'Where've you been?' he asked Harry, eyebrows raised.

Harry shrugged. 'In the village,' he said truthfully. 'I told you, I was meeting up with Aberforth and Bathilda today.'

Ron did not look convinced. 'That was hours ago,' he pointed out.

'Well, Batty talks a _lot_ ,' Harry said, again truthfully. 'And I went by to see Remus for a bit after…'

Ron huffed, stalking away toward the boys' dormitory. Harry watched him go in some bemusement before making his way over to Hermione's usual table.

'What's up with Ron?' he asked, throwing himself into an empty seat. The Common Room was quieter than usual this evening – many students lounging about and yawning in a post-party lethargy.

Hermione did not look up from _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_. 'He's in a temper,' she answered lightly. 'He's been needling me all day about how I'm getting to lessons again. I swear he'll drive me to distraction.'

Harry grunted noncommittally, plagued not only by the Time-Turner's secrecy but also all the other things he'd had to keep hidden over the past few weeks – from both Ron and Hermione. He spent an hour or so flicking through Arithmancy at the table with her, but his heart was not really in the work. Ron did not emerge from the dormitory at all until it was time to go down to supper, and then he was frosty with Harry all through the meal. Harry was grateful when at last he could reasonably turn in for the night.

Most of Gryffindor Tower was calling it an early evening, after the raucous celebration that had kept them up the whole of the previous night… but even so, Harry was the first in his form to head to bed. Just a few minutes after he'd climbed into the four-poster, however, the door to the dormitory opened again. He heard footsteps approach… and to his surprise, Ron's face appeared in the gap in the curtains.

'Hey,' Harry said, sitting up a bit against the headboard. Ron still had the glower he'd been wearing most of the day.

'Hey,' he said back. 'Look, Harry…'

He widened the gap a bit, moving to sit on the edge of Harry's bed. He was playing with his fingers, and he looked nervous.

'What's up?' Harry prodded, pulling his knees to his chest and leaning forward toward Ron.

'Harry are… are we okay?' Ron asked.

'Course we are,' Harry said in some surprise. 'Why wouldn't we be?'

'It's just…' Ron hesitated again. 'Look, you've been odd, mate,' he said bluntly. 'Ever since before the Easter break. It's like you're there… but you're not _really_ there, do you know what I mean? Like something's wrong with you…'

Harry's heart kicked up a little in his chest. It was usually Hermione he thought of as the observant one.

'Ron, it's nothing to do with you,' he promised, trying to make his voice sincere. The words did not seem to bring his friend any comfort.

'Well than what _is_ it, Harry?' he insisted. 'Because it is something. You've not bothered to find out why Hermione's been shady… we've barely even talked about Sirius Black since the week after he broke in this room… and you've been muttering in your sleep, a _lot_ ,' he added, looking up with a crease between his eyebrows. 'A _lot_ , Harry. More than usual. Almost as much as you did back in first year, after… at the end of the term.'

Harry frowned too. He had not had any of the really awful nightmares… not the kind that shook him from his sleep, or rendered him physically ill. But he was certain his dreams _had_ been disturbed, in the more usual way.

He'd have to remember to start practising the Occlumency again. He'd been letting it slide for months now.

'I… it's nothing,' he hedged. But Ron's jaw was set.

'I thought we were better friends than this,' he said brusquely. 'I thought you'd tell me, Harry, if something's going on with you… I didn't think we _had_ secrets like this anymore.'

Harry's stomach gave a guilty pang at the expression of hurt on Ron's face. He cast his mind about desperately.

'It's just… it's… er, it's Hermione,' Harry said wildly, picking the first non-Sirius excuse that popped into his brain.

He regretted it as soon as the words left his lips, but it did not matter. Ron clung to them immediately.

'I _knew_ it!' he said, looking a mixture of frustrated and triumphant. 'You _know_ how she's been doing it – how she's been managing that timetable!' he accused. 'How could you not tell me?! How long have you known?'

'I… since the start of the school year,' Harry admitted. 'Since September. I reckon I've been off lately because I knew you were close to working it out, and I promised Minerva I wouldn't tell anyone – not even you.'

'Why'd she let _you_ know, and not me?!' Ron asked, sounding wounded. ' _I'm_ her best mate too!'

'Because I've been using it as well,' Harry said, laying it all on the table. 'To get to Arithmancy. It meets same time slot as Divination.'

Ron looked outraged. 'I can't _believe_ I didn't catch that,' he muttered to himself. 'All those times you too snuck off after lessons… and here I thought you just popped in the loo…' he shook his head, scowling. 'And using what, Harry?'

'A Time-Turner,' Harry explained. 'It's this hourglass thing on a chain… it let's you go back and repeat –'

'I know what a Time-Turner is,' said Ron, sounding suspicious again. 'I found one at our house once, a few years back now. Dad went mental when he spotted me lifting it from the table in the kitchen… said it was dangerous. He told me what it does. He said it brought from work by mistake.'

Harry shook his head. 'It was probably Percy's, or Bill's,' he opined. 'Depending on what year it was you found it. They would have needed one too: to attend all their lessons.'

Ron shook his head in disbelief. 'I can't _believe_ I didn't put it together,' he bemoaned. 'And I can't _believe_ you and Hermione didn't tell me about it!' he added, looking miffed again. 'How could you?'

'She made us swear, Ron,' Harry said. 'And you know what McGonagall's like. I wasn't about to hear it if we went back on our word. So you can't tell _anyone_ … I'll have to tell her I told you. I'll tell her you worked it out on your own, which you sort of did…'

Ron did not seem totally placated, but he did look slightly impressed as he shook his head again.

'A Time-Turner,' he repeated. 'Merlin, no wonder she's going mental. She's fitting about 30 hours in, every day?'

'Sometimes,' Harry agreed. 'I'm not sure it's such a great idea though…'

He yawned widely. 'Listen, I'm knackered,' he confessed to Ron. 'I think I've got to pack it in, or I'll be rubbish in Potions first thing tomorrow… and Hermione's got us blocked out to about midnight every night this week revising for exams…'

'I _know_ ,' Ron said with another moan. He made to stand up from the bed but paused – glancing back at Harry.

'Look – I wish you'd told me sooner,' he said with a significant look. 'But… I'm glad you told me, Harry. And I won't say anything, promise.'

Harry smiled. 'I'm glad you know too, Ron,' he said.

He made to pull the curtains closed again, but Ron put out a hand to stop him.

'Leave them open, tonight?' he asked tentatively.

Harry frowned. 'Why?'

Ron shrugged. 'I don't like it, when you get the nightmares,' he admitted, studying his hands instead of Harry's face. 'Especially since Black…. Just – I feel better if I can see you're alright, yeah?'

'Er… Okay…' Harry relented hesitantly.

Ron nodded, and he shuffled off to the loo to get ready for bed.

Harry laid there – eyes open, even though he'd just claimed exhaustion. He did feel better, having levelled with Ron about the Time-Turner's existence after so many long months of secrecy and lies… though he still wished he could have unloaded his much more serious burdens.

He closed his eyes as he heard the door to the loo creak open again, and started trying to calm his worries by focusing on his empty Quidditch pitch. He did not want to disturb Ron's sleep tonight with more nightmares…

But he left his curtains open, all the same.

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 38**

 **Sassy973** : Thanks for reviewing! Glad to hear you are enjoying the story, and I hope you'll like the next chapter!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for your review! Things are definitely heating up here as we approach the end… I hope you enjoy it.

 **StormOwlRage** : Thank you for your review! I'm glad I was able to make your day a bit brighter and that you liked the chapter :). Sirius… this bit is really the central dilemma I wanted him to struggle through: the difference, as Albus calls it, between vengeance and justice – and specifically what that means for his priorities. Sirius is certainly genuine in his love for Harry and his desire to protect him and be family for him… but he is also a bit frozen in time at 22, and his thirst for revenge is all-consuming. He doesn't mean to place Harry second, but he does. Remus, as I'm sure you noted, can see that. Hopefully you'll like where all this calamity leads us!

Enjoy the next instalment!

 **Ches007** : Thanks for your review! Great to hear you liked the chapter, and I hope you enjoy the continuation!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for reviewing! Haha, yes… not so wise to leave any thirteen-year-old too make the responsible decision; Harry especially. Precisely what Remus feared would happen, I dare say. Hope you like the next chapter!

 **HMRoberts** : Thank you for your review! I'm very glad you are enjoying the stories so much, and hope I can continue to meet expectations! I appreciate all your thoughts and am happy you're enjoying the characterisations as we work through the story – it's quite important to me that each character is different and unique, and that we have a chance in this story to explore a bit deeper than canon allowed. I hope you continue to like the tale as it unfolds! These next few instalments (to the end of Part II) should come quickly, as much of each chapter has already been drafted. Enjoy Chapter 39!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thanks for your review! Haha, yes… Sirius' actions are so frustrating in Chapter 38! But I promise – they'll be a point to this struggle and the way in which the Pettigrew drama ultimately concludes… just four more chapters to go. Hope you enjoy Chapter 39!


	40. The Dark Lord's Servant

**A/N:** Working hard to get this finished expediently! Hopefully get to work on Chapter 41 this week-end and post early week. I only have another fortnight of leave from work, so I'm going to do my best to get this book finished before life becomes wholly insane. Responses to reviews are at the end, for those of you who reviewed Chapter 39.

Enjoy 'The Dark Lord's Servant,' and **please** **read and review!** I'd love to hear people's thoughts as we finish up this Book…

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **Chapter 40: The Dark Lord's Servant**

'Remus, are you even listening?'

'Mm,' Remus grunted back, though Sirius knew he had not been.

The map was spread out across the sitting room table in the Shrieking Shack again, and it pulled Remus' gaze constantly. Not that Sirius was at all immune to its lure… but he had had far longer to master the frustration and the constant, endless failure. Its disappointment did not shock him, in the way it still seemed to stun his companion. Though Remus had come by tonight on the guise of conversation – and though it was the first time they'd shared less than frosty words since the diatribe he'd received following the Map's one glimmer of hope – the chat had lasted less than fifteen minutes. From there, they'd been wavering between periods of drinking in silence and Sirius talking at Remus with little to no response.

'I'm going to tell him,' Sirius repeated, for whatever good it might do. 'The next time I'm up at the castle. I think he should know he has the option.'

'Option of what?' Remus echoed vaguely.

Sirius grunted in frustration. He slapped a hand down on the parchment, blocking the east wing from view. 'Of _living_ with me, Remus!' he snarled out. 'Merlin, keep up.'

'Don't, you prat!' Remus growled back, prising at Sirius' fingers. 'What if he moves while your –'

'He has made one appearance on this wretched thing since the day we dug it out,' Sirius reminded him, though he wrenched his hand away again and raked his eyes dutifully over the previously-obscured portion. 'And you can speak and watch at the same time.'

Remus gave him a glower, before returning his own eyes to the parchment. 'I stand by what I told you weeks ago,' he insisted. 'I do not think it a good idea to upset Harry from his current situation. The castle is good for him. And you… even if we do manage to track Peter down, you need some time before you are ready to –'

'I told you, I'm fine,' Sirius retorted testily. 'And I'm not going to uproot him. Not if that isn't what he wants. I know him, Remus… I've been talking to him –'

'On occasion, and only over a matter of weeks,' Remus pointed out. 'It takes more than that to –'

'I know him,' Sirius repeated firmly. 'But if you would just let me finish…'

Remus waited, looking up briefly again, for just a moment.

'I won't force him into anything – him or Albus,' Sirius explained. 'But I need him to know he has the option, if things work out with Wormtail and the Ministry. He… I think he _needs_ that, Remus. He should know I want him; that I'm willing – that I'd _love_ – to have him, if he wants to make a home with me. And _I_ need to know that he's where he wants to be. That he's happy. I owe him that… and I owe it to Lily, and James.'

Remus gave a fleeting smile. 'Then you should tell him, Padfoot,' he relented quietly.

He stood, gathering the map off the table. Sirius noted that he did not stow it into a pocket any longer.

'I ought to get back – I have exams to write,' Remus muttered quietly.

'Are you using a dictation quill to do it?' Sirius muttered under his breath.

Moony did not answer. He left… leaving Sirius to the rest of the whisky and his own confused thoughts.

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'You _told_ him?!' Hermione hissed anxiously, when Harry cornered her after breakfast the following morning.

Harry grimaced. 'I had to,' he muttered back. 'He'd already worked out something was going on, Hermione. He's been asking around… we would have been in even more trouble if everyone else had got suspicious too.'

Hermione wrung her hands, still looking terrified. Harry closed his own over her fingers to stop her.

'Relax,' he told her, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to check that nobody was eavesdropping. 'I'll talk to McGonagall – explain the situation. She can't get all that angry… it wasn't as though I had a choice.'

And, to Harry's shock, Minerva barely blinked an eye when he dawdled to drop the bombshell after their final period Transfiguration lesson.

'Well, honestly,' she said with a sniff, straightening the heap of scrolls that held their essays, 'I would have thought you'd let it slip months ago.'

Harry gaped at her, unsure whether he was more indignant or relieved. 'You thought I'd _tell_?' he sputtered. 'But… but you gave us all those warnings. You told me I _couldn't_ clue up Ron, no matter what. Do you realise how cross he was at me? If I'd known you didn't care…'

'Of course I care, Harry,' she disagreed, flicking her wand at the wall to draw the curtains over the mullioned windows. 'I would have _preferred_ Weasley did not know – that nobody beyond yourself and Ms Granger was aware of the situation… but I am not an impractical witch,' she clarified. 'And Weasley is not as oblivious as he may first appear. And anyway, what's done is done.'

She gave him half a smile. 'Would you prefer to go back on restriction instead?'

'No,' Harry said quickly. 'Er – that makes sense, yeah.'

And he dashed off for the Tower, before Minerva could change her mind.

With the close of the Quidditch season freeing up his evenings and so much anxiety still preying on his mind over Peter Pettigrew's continued existence, Harry had thought the weeks leading into June and the exams would creep by unbearably slowly. On the contrary, however, time seemed to be hurtling toward summer. Some of this, Harry did not mind. The start of May brought with it much warmer and clearer weather, and he, Ron and Hermione spent their breaks out in the grounds – trading the common room or library tables for their favourite beech tree at the edge of the lake.

He would have preferred, of course, not to be revising every minute he was not in lessons. But, sadly, that was not to be. Even had he been willing to risk an afternoon off, Hermione kept both his and Ron's noses pressed firmly to their colour-blocked timetables.

'You'll thank me when you've passed everything,' she reminded them sanctimoniously, when they raised their usual gripe.

The protest was traditional… but Harry knew she was right. He'd allowed Hermione to force them into a revision schedule for every exam period since his start at the school; and he had yet to fail a subject. Of course, he'd never taken an exam in Divination before… so he supposed that theory would be put to new test this June.

It helped that they were not alone in their panic. Most of their own class was struggling to balance all the end of term work and revisions, and they had it easy compared to the fifth and seventh years. Percy Weasley, who had been quite attentive to Harry all year and particularly since the scene with Sirius Black in the dormitory, was now almost entirely unseen – shut up in his dormitory reading for his N.E.W.T.s away from the crowded common room. Harry knew Percy was hoping to work for the Ministry like his father after school, and was therefore unsurprised by this development… but he _was_ surprised that the twins did not press the advantage of the Head Boy's absence to demonstrate some of their more ridiculous schemes. He supposed even Fred and George took O.W.L. examinations with some degree of seriousness.

Harry had been keeping a regular Sunday dinner schedule with Sirius ever since the end of the Quidditch season. He told Ron and Hermione it was a standing time for dinner with Albus… who sometimes _did_ join them, and other times worked up in his bedchamber or left the castle for a few hours – perhaps to see Aberforth, or on other business outside the school. Sirius' obsession with Pettigrew had only grown in the weeks since their failed attempt to corner him in the seventh-floor corridor; but when he wasn't brooding over the traitor, he was asking Harry increasingly personal questions. Harry supposed it was all part of getting to know one another… but as much as he liked Sirius already, he still found it hard to answer some of his inquiries.

'Harry?'

'Hmm?' said Harry, jolted from his musings. He realised belatedly that he'd been holding a forkful of rocket aloft for the better part of three minutes, and lowered it without consuming the salad. 'Sorry… I guess I'm a bit tired; been revising all week-end.'

He was preoccupied tonight, remembering the chaos of receiving their timetables for the examinations over breakfast the previous morning. Ron had had a fit looking over Hermione's shoulder at her own, where she was scheduled at times to sit _three_ examinations in one timeslot. And they'd both been perplexed by Trelawney's incomprehensible assignments: individualised, at random hours spreading over the fortnight of examination period.

'I was saying… has Albus spoken to you yet about your plans for the upcoming summer holiday?'

Harry bit his lip. He _hadn't_ talked specifically to the headmaster about what he would be doing once term concluded. But he suspected he knew the answer already. They had spoken so many times about the Dursleys and the role they must play in Harry's protection, and he couldn't imagine that Dumbledore would not be keener than ever to ensure that protection remained – especially if they continued to be unsuccessful in their attempts to catch Peter Pettigrew.

'Not precisely,' he hedged. 'But I'm pretty sure I'll go back to the Dursleys, for a week or so. And then, hopefully, I'll be able to come back here. That's what we did last summer… and that's what Dumbledore seemed to say we would be doing from here on out.'

Sirius nodded, but his brow was furrowed.

'Is that what you _want_ to do, Harry?' he asked, looking keenly at him.

Harry frowned. 'Well… no, not exactly,' he answered honestly. 'I mean, if I had it my way I'd be here all the time. Hogwarts is home. It's… it's everything. It's where I belong. But I know it's complicated; I've talked to Albus about it a lot. The Dursleys…' He hesitated. 'They're not great,' he admitted. 'But I need them. Or Albus thinks I do, anyway, because of my mum. Because she gave her life for mine… and if I don't go back at least once a year, I won't keep that protection.'

Sirius scowled. 'Some things aren't worth protection, Harry,' he said quietly.

A more childish part of Harry's soul sang in agreement: the part that remembered a decade of torture. The part connected to his left cheek, where Vernon's strike had broken bones.

But Harry wasn't the same wizard he'd been at eleven years old, when Dumbledore had first come to take him from that home. And even though it killed him to go back… he could understand, on some level, why Albus insisted on it.

'I have to,' he said dully. 'There isn't a choice. Not really. Not right now. But he knows what it's like – Albus. He won't make me stay long… at least, I don't think so. I should probably talk to him about it.'

'And after?' Sirius pressed. 'When you leave your aunt and uncle's… you think you're going to come back here?'

Harry cocked his head, confused. 'Well, I hope so,' he said, slightly defensively. 'I mean… like I said, I haven't talked with Dumbledore about it yet, but… he let me stay the last two summers. He and McGonagall – they sort of look after me, while everyone's out of the castle.'

'What do you do with them, when you're here alone?'

Harry shrugged. 'Normal stuff,' he said. 'You know – they let me go into the grounds; sometimes I go flying… I read, or we play games. Sometimes we go into the village. Last summer, we went on mini-break to Edinburgh. I take lessons –'

' _Lessons_?' Sirius repeated, looking scandalised. 'You take _lessons_ over the summer holiday? He makes you do _school_?'

Harry shrugged again. 'Well, they're not normal lessons,' he defended. 'Some of it is. You know – Transfiguration, Potions, Charms… that sort of thing. But we do other lessons too… wandless magic, Occlumency, some advanced Defence work. It's not so bad. Dumbledore teaches me himself, and Minerva and Lupin. And Snape,' he added.

He said the last begrudgingly… for he knew already that Sirius Black was perhaps the only person in the world Snape might hate as much – if not more – than he had hated James Potter. From what he'd seen of Sirius' behaviour toward the Potions Master, he was sure the sentiment was entirely mutual.

He was not surprised when Sirius growled. 'Dumbledore makes you take summer tutorials with that _slime ball_ ,' he spat viciously.

'Well… to be fair, I sort of asked for the wandless lessons,' Harry confided.

' _He_ teaches you wandless magic?' Sirius clarified, incredulous. ' _Snape_?'

Harry nodded. 'Only since last July,' he informed him. 'But yeah, those are his.'

Sirius looked as though he wanted to launch into a rant, but he swallowed down on whatever he was going to retort. Instead, he fixed Harry with a very intense stare. It was slightly unnerving.

'You don't have to do it, you know,' he told Harry seriously. 'Any of it, I mean. You're a kid. You're not meant to be training, or sitting in lessons all year long. You're meant to be enjoying yourself; having some fun. I… I know you've had a rough time of it at your relations,' he confessed, looking mournful. 'And I'm sorry for that. If I hadn't gone after Peter that night – if I hadn't been imprisoned – perhaps things could have been different from the beginning. But now…'

He paused, fidgeting a bit in his seat. Harry wondered at the awkwardness.

'Anyway, what I'm trying to say is… we can make it different, now. If you want to.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'What do you mean, different?' he asked. 'If you think you're going to be able to convince Dumbledore I shouldn't go back to Privet Drive… well, I sort of doubt it. We talked it through about every possible way last summer, and even I can see where –'

'I could _tell_ Dumbledore you won't be going,' Sirius clarified, a bit more confidently. 'If you want me to, Harry, I will. Once I'm cleared… _if_ I'm cleared – when we get Pettigrew, I mean…'

He faltered again, looking nervous as he ran a hand through his hair.

'I'm your godfather, Harry.'

'Yeah, I know that…' Harry said slowly. 'But what does that have to do with –'

'Lily and James…' Sirius sighed heavily. 'Your mum and dad – they wanted me to take you. To raise you, if anything should happen to them…'

And it clicked.

'You… you want me to come with you?' Harry asked, his own voice higher than usual. 'Come and _live_ with you, instead of here at the school?'

'Only if you want to,' Sirius said quickly. 'I mean – I'll understand, Harry. Really, I will… if you'd rather not. But we could make a family together, you and I. We don't have to live in the shadows, not once the traitor is out of the picture. You could have a normal home, a normal house; a normal summer. And I… I would be there for you, Harry,' he added, eyes blazing. 'I'll take care of you.'

A tumult of emotions swelled inside Harry. _Live_ with Sirius Black… his parents' best friend… Someone who would keep him safe. Someone who wanted him. Someone who would take care of him. Someone who loved him. Someone almost like a father. It was everything he'd dreamed of, all those long nights in his cupboard surrounded by darkness and spiders and mouldy blankets.

But…

 _Harry had that, didn't he?_

Maybe he hadn't when he was small. Maybe he hadn't for ten long, miserable years… But he had it now.

When he thought of safety, he thought of this very study: with its crackling fire and Fawkes trilling on his corner perch.

When he felt unwanted, he thought of Minerva's face as she came tearing into the room at Emmeline's inn in Edinburgh, terrified when she thought he'd been lost forever.

When he wished for someone to take care of him, he remembered how Albus had sat up with him in the bedchamber upstairs, soothing him from fever for four days when he'd only barely arrived back two summers ago.

When he wondered who loved him, he saw Albus' face… Minerva's… Ron's, Hermione's, Remus', Aberforth's…. And now Sirius'. Everyone he would never have known, if Hogwarts had not brought them back together.

Even though Harry _knew_ Sirius was sincere… and he _knew_ the man did love him… when he thought of a father-figure in his life, it was not Sirius Black who came to mind.

And, for the first time that Harry could remember, he also realised it _wasn't_ something he was missing anymore.

'I…' he struggled to find the right words – the unexpected epiphany that had taken root in his mind seeming to block his memory of speech.

'You don't have to answer now,' Sirius offered, saving Harry the awkward moment. 'I just… wanted you to know you have the option. Or you will have, when we catch the rat.'

'Thank you,' said Harry, putting as much feeling as he could into the words.

On impulse, he threw his arms around Sirius' neck. Sirius clutched him back tightly, and with an inherent naturalness. It made Harry's next words easier and more difficult in equal measure as he said them to Sirius' shoulder.

'I… I can't live with you,' he admitted softly. 'I want you to be around – really I do. I _want_ to know you more, and to see you; to spend time together. I just… Hogwarts is my home. Here: with Albus. With Minerva. I just… I can't leave them now. I'm sorry…'

'Don't be,' Sirius insisted. He pulled back so that he could look into Harry's face. Harry thought his eyes looked slightly tight, but he was smiling all the same.

'I just want you to be happy,' he assured him, touching Harry's chin with one long finger. 'And safe. If being here gives you both, then I would never take that from you. But know that you always have another option… and my home is always open to you, if you ever have need of it.'

Harry gave him a watery smile. 'Thank you,' he said simply.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The first week of June arrived, and with it – the start of examinations. What had been simmering stress boiled over into full-blown panic throughout much of the school. The common room was as eerily quiet as Madam Pince's library. House points were docked in the dozens by prefects and teachers for any misbehaviour in the corridors or dormitories. The annual trade in dodgy study aids kicked up with a vengeance. And it became common place to put Sticking Charms on one's plate in the Great Hall, lest a fellow pupil accidentally send it flying into your face while attempting to cram incantations and wand movements at breakfast.

Harry thought he'd done alright, on the whole.

Transfiguration and Charms were easy, with all the extra work he'd been doing in both subjects over the summer in addition to the regular syllabus. Potions, predictably, did not leave him with the same sense of confidence. He doubted Snape's examination ever would, no matter how many extra tutorials he'd participated in. In fact, Harry strongly suspected on comparing papers with Ron and Hermione that Snape had made _his_ extra difficult, just to make up for Harry's added preparation.

Except for a minor mishap with an abundance of dragon dung fertilizer, Harry thought Herbology went pretty well. Astronomy and History of Magic were mostly memorisation, so Hermione's revision schedule had him well prepared for those exams, even if Harry rarely listened to Binns in regular lessons. He even made it alright through Arithmancy. Care of Magical Creatures was a wash: Hagrid was far more preoccupied with the upcoming appeal at the Ministry – set to take place the day their exams were to finish. He'd merely given them each a Flobberworm and told them it had to be alive at the end of the hour to pass the exam.

But Harry was most pleased about his Defence work, for which they'd been required to complete a series of tasks, each involving a creature they'd studied that year. Harry emerged to face a beaming Remus, who'd told him straight out he had achieved the highest mark in the year.

He was still grinning as he mounted the grand staircase at half four, even though he was headed to his least favourite room in the castle.

His final exam was Divination. Unlike the 'mundane' teachers, Trelawney took great issue with conformity to school tradition or regularity. She believed that Divination could not truly be 'tested'… and certainly not by a uniform, contrived examination. The Seer had therefore assigned each of her students a set time and date for their individual assessment, spreading all her exams out at various intervals throughout the fortnight. Harry – as far as he'd been able to determine in comparing timetables with his fellow Gryffindors – was the last one in his form scheduled to sit his examination. Ron, who had had his Divination session on Monday, was finished now and headed back to the Tower to join the celebrations. Hermione was sitting Ancient Runes. So Harry climbed the many flights alone, relishing his victory in Defence and thinking longingly of his own freedom, a mere hour or so away.

He knocked at the trapdoor hesitantly when at last he reached the top of the ladder. There was no reply from within. Assuming Trelawney was expecting him, Harry pushed the door open and climbed out into the classroom.

To his surprise, the Seer was not alone.

'Oh! Er… sorry,' Harry apologised, his face burning as he started to retreat.

Cho Chang was seated on one of the garish poufs, across the table from Professor Trelawney. The sunlight – tinged red from the draped curtains that shrouded the tower windows – gleamed off both the crystal ball and Cho's raven hair as she turned to face the intruder. She gave him a tentative smile that only heightened his mortification.

Harry felt like an idiot. He should have realised that the other forms would probably have odd Divination examination timing too… _why_ hadn't he waited for the invitation to enter? She probably thought he was rude now, in addition to absolutely –

'I'm sorted, actually,' Cho assured him, rising from her pouf and gathering a leather satchel from under the low table. 'At least… I think?' she added, looking to the professor.

Trelawney straightened her bangles with a slow nod. 'Indeed,' she said in her misty voice. 'You may go, Ms Chang. Do have a lovely holiday… and don't forget to beware of fire on the first of August,' she warned her casually. 'Mr Potter… kindly fetch the smaller orb from the cupboard, just there. This one is for more advanced work.'

She indicated an old-fashioned cabinet at the front of the room with a sweeping arm, before pulling a velvet pouch from among her many shawls to stow the one the fourth year had been utilising. Cho passed Harry as he made to heed the direction, giving him a grimace and an exaggerated eye-roll as she turned her back on the professor.

He grinned despite himself.

As he took one of the smaller crystal orbs from the shelf, however, a new, very harsh voice rang through the room: so loud and unexpected that Harry nearly dropped the sphere…

'IT WILL HAPPEN TONIGHT.'

Harry wheeled, looking toward the trap door on instinct for the source of the sound. Cho was there, her hand outstretched for the round handle… but she had frozen. Her dark eyes were wide as she stared past Harry toward the table she'd so recently abandoned. Harry turned the other way instead, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling.

Professor Trelawney sat stiffened in her armchair; clutching the larger orb, now encased in its velvet pouch, tight to her chest with both hands. Her eyes were open but unfocused, half-white as they rolled in her head.

Harry gaped at her – transfixed.

'Wh… Pardon?'

The Seer made no sign whatsoever that she had heard him. Her head began to loll, her irises disappearing entirely to face the back of her skull. Her entire body was jerking as though possessed.

The orb fell out of her grasp, thumping dully to the floor and rolling away under one of the adjacent tables.

'Professor!' Harry called, starting forward in panic.

Something halted his progress, bouncing him back as though by a forcefield. He almost lost his footing. He tried again to move toward the professor, but whatever the invisible barrier was would not yield.

'Don't,' a quiet voice advised. A hand closed around his wrist. 'There's no point. It won't break, until it's over.'

Cho had come back, joining him at his forced point of exile. She too was watching Trelawney, though her expression was less horrified than his own. She looked… calculating. Perhaps resigned.

Harry did not understand it.

'Shouldn't we –' he began… but the harsh tones interrupted him again.

Professor Trelawney's voice, yet the very _opposite_ of any voice he'd ever heard her use before.

'THE DARK LORD LIES ALONE AND FRIENDLESS. ABANDONED BY HIS FOLLOWERS. HIS SERVANT HAS BEEN CHAINED THESE TWELVE YEARS. TONIGHT, BEFORE MIDNIGHT… THE SERVANT WILL BREAK FREE AND SET OUT TO RE-JOIN HIS MASTER. THE DARK LORD WILL RISE AGAIN WITH HIS SERVANT'S AID… GREATER AND MORE TERRIBLE THAN EVER HE WAS. TONIGHT… BEFORE MIDNIGHT… THE SERVANT… WILL SET OUT… TO RE-JOIN… HIS MASTER…'

Professor Trelawney suddenly slumped, the odd spasm that had racked her body ceasing entirely. Her chin fell forward to rest on her chest and she gave a grunt – as though in sleep.

Harry felt a chill creep through his entire being.

'What the bloody –'

But before he could even finish the thought, the professor's head snapped upright once more, her eyes returned to their usual state.

'Oh, I'm terribly sorry, my dear,' she apologised. Her voice, Harry noticed, had resumed its dreamy normalcy. 'I must have drifted off… the heat of the afternoon, you understand…'

Harry's mouth fell open. He gaped at her, lost for words.

'Ms Chang… was there something further?' Trelawney asked, her gaze shifting to Cho.

Cho released her grip on Harry's wrist. 'No, professor,' she said. Her voice was a bit shaky, but she made no mention at all of the strange occurrence. 'Er – Harry… I'll, er, see you later. Good luck.'

And she left, before Harry could work out just what it was he wanted to say to her.

'Well, take a seat, dear boy, take a seat…' Trelawney insisted, flapping a bejewelled hand at the open pouf.

Harry walked slowly forward. The strange barrier that had rebuffed him had gone now. But he did not sit.

'You… what was that, professor?' he asked, still staring hard at Trelawney.

'What was what?' Trelawney inquired lightly. She prised the crystal ball out of Harry's hand, when he made no move to hand it over.

Harry narrowed his gaze. 'You _know_ what, ma'am,' he insisted. 'You… you just told us that the – the Dark Lord is going to rise again. You said his servant would go back to him… that he would be more –'

'Really!' Professor Trelawney interrupted him, looking thoroughly startled. She drew her shawls tighter to her chest, gazing around as though worried someone might be eavesdropping. 'What a thing to joke about, Mr Potter… the Dark Lord, rise again? It's simply –'

'But _you_ said it!' Harry insisted, equal parts angry and unnerved. 'Just now! You told me –'

'I think you must have dozed off as well,' Trelawney interrupted, shaking her head firmly. 'Now, if you would, kindly gaze into the orb… Relax your mind, and open your Inner Eye to the portents of the future…'

Harry could hardly remember what tosh he'd made up during his Divination exam. He hadn't seen anything at all in the cloudy depths of the crystal ball… but even if he'd seen the whole of the rest of his life, it would not have been able to drown out Trelawney's fit. He tried to press her again on the prediction when she'd finally dismissed him a half hour later, but she'd brushed him off once more; wincing at Voldemort's name and apparently without any idea of the words she'd uttered.

Perhaps it was just her idea of a clever way to end the term: predicting events even more dire than she'd begun with.

When he'd climbed back down the ladder to her attic room, however, he'd been surprised to find Cho Chang awaiting him at the bottom.

'Oh, hi,' he greeted her, somewhat lamely.

He wasn't embarrassed this time. Trelawney's words were far too fresh… and his curiosity far too overpowering. But there was a bit of awkwardness, all the same. After all, he'd never had a proper conversation with Cho before… and clearly, she wanted to speak with him. She'd waited through his examination to do so.

'She didn't remember, did she?' Cho asked, jumping right into it.

Harry frowned at her. 'No…' he said, confusion mounting again. 'She didn't.'

He thought back to the moments just before the prediction; to how Cho had seemed to know what was happening. How she had stopped him trying to get through to the professor.

'Has she done that before?' he asked, a bit suspicious.

Cho shook her head. 'No,' she said. 'Never that I've seen, at least. I wasn't really sure she _could_ , to be honest…'

'You think it was a real prediction, then?' Harry demanded, his thrill of horror at the Seer's words returning. 'But… why wouldn't she take the credit, then, if it was? Why would she pretend she hadn't a clue what I was on about? Of if she was telling the truth… why _wouldn't_ she remember?'

Cho gave him a sad smile. 'Yin and Yang.'

Harry stared, uncomprehending. 'Pardon?' he prompted, when Cho did not go on.

'Yin and Yang,' she repeated. 'You know… dark and light. Complimentary forces. Balance.'

'I… er, I still don't get it,' Harry admitted, feeling stupid once again.

Cho sighed. 'It's not that uncommon… or, at least, it's not uncommon among the uncommon, I suppose. The Sight isn't a common gift. But Seers are usually hampered in some way or another. Sometimes, they have the Sight but not physical sight. Other times, they don't remember what it is they've Seen. Some Seers aren't believed when they relay their prophecies to others. Some lose a bit of themselves, when they prophesise. It varies.'

Harry recalled, vaguely, the discussion he'd had nearly two years ago with the headmaster… when Dumbledore had tried to explain about Fate and prophets. He felt just as wrong-footed in this conversation as he had in that one.

Cho seemed to guess his difficulty. 'It's magic,' she went on. 'Magic, especially unusual talent, always comes at a price. The balance must hold.'

'So… you're saying Trelawney might have made a _true_ prophecy, but her, er, "price" is that she doesn't remember doing it?' Harry clarified.

'Exactly,' Cho said, giving him another small smile. 'Ironic, isn't it? When you consider how often she plays at guesswork…'

'How do you _know_ all this?' Harry asked, curious. 'Are you a… er, Seer, too?'

Cho laughed. It was a light, very feminine laugh… and it sent a small thrill of pleasure down Harry's spine even through the aura of uncertainty and panic he was currently fighting.

'Oh no,' Cho insisted, shaking her head. 'No, not at all. I mean, I _try_ in Divination… but I've never had the talent. It's my mother who can do it. That's why I could recognise the signs… That trance – it happens to Mum too.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'Really?'

She nodded. 'Yes.' Her voice grew more serious. 'It used to really scare me, when I was small. I got accustomed to it after a while.' She shrugged.

'And your mum doesn't remember what it is she predicts?'

A shadow passed fleetingly over Cho's pretty face. She bit at her lower lip. 'Oh, no,' she said more quietly. 'No… Mum remembers. That isn't her burden.'

Harry hesitated. He wanted to ask Cho what happened to her mother… what _her_ price was, for whatever visions she divined… But he was afraid the inquiry might be a touch too personal, for their first ever real conversation.

'What Trelawney said though…' Cho continued, her expression darkening.

Harry nearly slapped himself.

 _How_ could he have forgotten that?! What was he doing – standing here bantering back and forth?!

'Yeah, I er –'

His 'have to go' was cut off, as Cho locked eyes with him. She still looked very serious, but she started to speak again before he could finish.

'Harry, don't put too much thought into it,' she urged him quietly.

'Not too much thought?' he repeated, shocked. 'Didn't you hear her? She said Lord Voldemort –' Cho flinched – 'Would rise again,' Harry finished. 'Greater and more terrible… with his servant's aid.'

'You-Know-Who is gone,' she reminded him in a whisper. 'Thanks to you,' she added with a ghost of a smile.

'For now,' Harry muttered back. 'But… he could come back. He isn't gone forever.'

Cho shuddered. 'Maybe,' she admitted at last. 'But it does you no good, to worry about it now. There isn't anything to do, in any case. Nobody knows where Sirius Black is…'

Harry kept his face deliberately as blank as he could make it.

'And Seers… they aren't always right, you know,' she told him. 'Prophesy is an odd thing. There are a thousand predictions – even _true_ prophecies – that are never fulfilled, for every one which comes to pass.'

Harry wanted to argue the point; but it wasn't really Cho he wanted to argue it to.

He tried to force a smile, even over his own anxiety. 'Yeah,' he said with false confidence. 'Yeah… you're right.'

She gave him another of her pretty smiles. 'Well…' she said, looking toward the corridor. 'Well, I suppose I ought to dash. But have a good summer holiday, Harry, if I don't see you.'

'Yeah,' Harry repeated automatically. 'Yeah… you too.'

She left with a wave, hurrying off toward the Ravenclaw dormitories. Harry walked casually in his own route until she turned a corner out of sight.

And then he sprinted for Gryffindor Tower as fast as his legs would carry him.

'Finished at last!' Ron greeted him, clapping Harry hard on the back the moment he tumbled through the portrait hole.

He pulled Harry upright from his scrambling, while Dean and Seamus began calling for them to come and join at a table of sweets and butterbeer in the corner. The entire Tower was a scene of celebration and cheer – dozens of relieved students engaged in happy chatter and games… not a one concerned that everything might change in hours.

'Thank Merlin!' Ron went on. 'You were ages up there. I thought we'd have to come and check the old bat hadn't forced her own predictions to come true and murdered you her– Harry?'

Ron cut himself off as Harry pushed himself straight again, frowning as he took in his face.

'What's the matter?'

Harry looked around, his nerves still rattled.

'Where's Hermione?'

'Still hasn't come in from Ancient Runes,' Ron answered. 'But she shouldn't be long now. It's nearly –'

As if on cue, the portrait hole opened again. Hermione's bushy hair preceded her into the Common Room. She found them with a smile that quickly faded into concern at their expressions.

'I need to talk to you,' Harry muttered as she joined them, before either of the others could speak. He jerked his head toward a far corner of the room, where there was one table mercifully still unoccupied. They followed in silence.

Harry repeated the events of the afternoon in a low whisper. Both Ron and Hermione had to lean in closely to hear around the din of the common room revelry.

'Oh Harry,' Hermione scoffed as Harry finished with the scene in the classroom. 'That woman's nothing but an old fraud. She was probably just doing it to frighten you; everyone knows now that Black's out for you. I don't think you should believe a single word of it!'

'You didn't _see_ her, Hermione,' Harry said stubbornly. 'This wasn't like her usual rubbish. Her voice… it was completely different: harsh, and low. There was a whole magical field around her… and she really didn't seem to remember _anything_ after she finished, not even when I quoted bits of it back to her. And afterward, when I went back down the ladder, Cho had waited for me. And she told me –'

'Cho _waited_ for you?' Ron interrupted keenly. He wagged his eyebrows. 'Excellent, mate! Did you –'

'Not the point, Ron,' Harry cut across him. 'Listen.'

And he told them what Cho had relayed about Seers.

'But Harry,' Hermione rebuffed, 'Even if that _is_ all true – Trelawney isn't a Seer. Not like that. You know she isn't.'

'Yeah…' Ron agreed, shaking his head. 'I think Hermione's right on this one, Harry. Trelawney was probably just trying to impress, you know. You were the last of the examinees – she wanted to end on a high note.'

'It wasn't like that,' Harry insisted, temper rising. 'You didn't see her, alright? You don't get it. And even Albus says she isn't a fraud… Or at least, not entirely.'

Hermione gave a disbelieving snort.

'Look,' Ron suggested, as Harry bristled again, 'If you really think it's something odd, why don't you just go to Dumbledore about it directly? It's not even supper time yet – he ought to be in his office.'

But Harry shook his head. 'Can't,' he said tersely. 'Dumbledore's with Hagrid, remember? They have that appeal today at the Ministry.'

'Professor McGonagall then,' Hermione suggested.

Her expression was triumphant, and Harry knew she thought the Transfiguration professor would take her side in this argument. She was probably right. But just now, he didn't much care. Tonight was full moon, which meant Remus wouldn't be able to do much of anything to help, if Pettigrew did make a break for it tonight. He was most likely already growing ill, this late in the afternoon. Sirius would be in the Shrieking Shack… and Harry had no way to get there without sneaking all the way through the village. He wasn't even sure he'd be able to get inside, even if he did manage to make it.

Minerva was the best option he had.

'Fine,' he agreed. 'Let's go to her now.'

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'All this, just to argue an appeal on a case you've already won?' Minerva asked incredulously, surveying the thick pile of neatly-furled scrolls the headmaster was stowing into a holdall.

Albus sighed. 'Most likely unnecessary,' he agreed. 'But I would rather be prepared for any contingency. Hagrid is exceedingly anxious… and I cannot say he is worried without cause.'

Minerva huffed indignantly. 'Surely not,' she disagreed. 'Lucius is as smug as a veela in heat, I'll grant you… but he cannot hope to succeed in this. Not after he has already lost in Committee. Not against you. And certainly not in front of the Wizengamot over which you preside.'

'I recused myself from hearing this case,' Albus reminded her.

Minerva rolled her eyes. 'Well of course,' she agreed. 'But you cannot recuse yourself from their minds, Albus. There is not a one among them who would not back your corner, whether your position is the correct one or not.'

Albus shook his head. He looked worried. 'I am not so certain,' he disagreed. 'There are those, I fear, who wish I would have a bit less influence in London… They are not the majority. Not yet, at any rate. But this is precisely the sort of circumstance in which they might press their advantage, while appearing to seem simply disinclined to favouritism.'

'Albus,' Minerva said in exasperation. 'Listen to yourself. You have spent too many years looking for the conspiracy in other men. This is a trial for a _hippogriff_ ; not the inquisition. Do you not think you are acting a trifle paranoid?'

Albus frowned, pausing in his preparations as he mused. 'Cornelius will sit in my stead,' he informed her softly. 'He sent word himself just last night.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'The Minister for Magic will preside over the appeal?' she clarified. 'That's preposterous.'

'It is chess,' Albus disagreed. 'And a calculated move, at that. It is an opportunity for those who are disconcerted to take his ear… to suggest that Hogwarts is not playing by all the Ministry rules, or that I am taken with my own agenda.'

'Even if that's true, it will never hold,' she said confidently. 'Fudge cannot fasten his boots without Flooing for your opinion on the colour.'

Albus' lips did not even twitch. 'Once, perhaps… but his desire for reassurance and advice grows less frequent,' he confided. 'He has been silent for months, in fact, until now. Even while Sirius remains uncaptured.'

Minerva frowned. 'Why?'

'I am not certain, precisely,' Albus confessed. 'But I suspect that Cornelius is a peace-time Minister. I have been making suggestion – for years – that Voldemort will not remain vanquished forever. It is my belief that this past year has made what he could once view as far-off future a bit too immediately possible for Cornelius. As the Ministry's failure to capture Sirius endures… his fear of what may come next grows stronger.'

'But… surely that would make him _more_ likely to rely on you?' Minerva countered, her brow furrowed. She ignored, for the moment, her own fears on this line of discussion. 'If he believes You-Know-Who might rise again?'

The headmaster shook his head. 'Belief is relative,' he disagreed. 'Men may choose to believe what they can see and deduce to be true… but they are just as capable of blinding themselves to reality, when ignorance is preferable. Cornelius, I think, has been avoiding me to avoid thinking on the implications of a possible resurgence of the darkness in his peaceful world… and I fear that could bode very ill, should the worst come to pass.'

A chill was creeping up Minerva's spine. She forced herself to speak rationally, mastering the emotion. 'Still,' she reasoned, redirecting the conversation. 'A bridge to cross at another time, Albus. You-Know-Who remains as we left him a year ago – alone, unaided and in ruin. There is no sign as yet that he means to conquer a broom cupboard, let alone the Wizarding World. By the time we reach that hurdle… there might well be a _new_ Minister for Magic. And I doubt whatever misgivings Cornelius may harbour will be taken out on the hippogriff.'

'Most likely not,' Albus agreed. 'Not yet, at least. I do not think Cornelius so far gone… But I would hate for Hagrid to suffer on my account. It is far better to be over-prepared, and vigilant, than complacent and remorseful.'

Minerva narrowed her eyes, suspicious. 'Did Alastor assist with the preparations?'

Albus gave a genuine laugh, and it eased her worry just a fraction.

'Perhaps you are right, my dear,' Albus allowed.

He finished placing the scrolls in the bag, and latched it closed with a flick of his hand. Minerva shrunk it for him out of habit, and Albus pocketed the case.

'I shall see you this evening?' he asked, coming over to kiss her farewell.

'Of course,' she agreed primly when they broke apart. 'I've spoken to Filius – he'll see to the castle until our return. Do you need anything brought to London?'

'Nothing additional,' Albus assured her. 'As I understand it from Barty, the scheme is to determine numbers for the delegations and see to it the proper departments in each government have been informed of the import arrangements…'

'Sounds riveting,' Minerva said sarcastically with a roll of her eyes.

Albus chuckled. 'I suspect it will be but the first of many, in the coming months before term.'

He kissed her briefly again on the cheek, and turned to leave the office.

It was almost ten hours later – just as Minerva was getting ready for her own departure – when a message from the headmaster finally arrived to inform her that Hagrid had won his appeal. The letter was concise, with no indication of the details. Minerva felt annoyed despite herself. She would have liked _some_ suggestion of whether Albus' dark musings had come to any fruition before she stepped foot in the building that night for several hours in the Minister's presence.

She did not have long to brood, however. Almost as soon as she'd set the post aside, someone began rapping hard on the door to her study.

'Harry?' she asked in surprise, opening it to reveal Harry, Ron and Hermione on the threshold.

'Minerva,' Harry said, his voice sounding a bit more than desperate. 'Can… May we come in, please?'

Bewildered, she held the door open. The students filed in… Harry looking anxious, Ron Weasley mildly unnerved, and Hermione frowning in what might have been disapproval.

'What is it?' she pressed, closing the door softly without taking her eyes from Harry. 'Has something happened?'

Harry took a deep breath. 'I think Professor Trelawney made a prophecy,' he said.

Minerva pursed her lips, instantly irritated. 'What do you mean, "made a prophecy"?' she repeated in a clipped voice. 'If she has been spouting that nonsense about the Grim again…'

'No,' Harry said, shaking his head. 'It wasn't like that. Not this time. She went all… strange, like a real trance. I couldn't approach her: there was a magical barrier blocking me. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she was jerking about, like she was having a fit or something. And she said… she said that Voldemort was going to come back – to rise again. She said the servant that was chained or something was going to go back to him, tonight, before midnight. She said the servant would help him, and he would be greater and more terrible than he ever was.'

A twinge of true unease coloured Minerva's anger, but she slammed down hard on the impulse.

'I shall speak with her as soon as I return,' she promised hotly. 'What a foul way to end the examination period… she ought to be ashamed.'

Hermione gave a huff of agreement. Harry shot her a glare before replying to Minerva.

'You can try,' he said. 'But she won't know what you're talking about. I already tried to ask her… she doesn't remember _anything_. She thinks she just dozed off.'

The flicker of unease flared again. Minerva remembered her discussion with Albus two years ago, when he'd told her what the Seer had prophesised… how she had given Voldemort motive to go after Harry… and that she had had no memory of the fateful words.

But this was ridiculous. Sybill was a fraud who wallowed in the dramatic; and this prediction was as dramatic as they came. And even if the prophecy _were_ true, prophecy was prophecy. It could not be outrun and it could not be changed. It either was or it was not.

And nearly everything Sybill said was _not_.

'Harry,' she said gently aloud, 'Professor Trelawney… she is not known for true predictions, whatever histrionic trance they might arise from. I do not know if this was a true moment of Sight or a clever parlour trick; but I do not think you should worry yourself about it on a day you should be celebrating the close of examinations.'

'But I _can't_ not worry!' Harry retorted. 'What if he _does_ escape tonight? While Albus is gone and Remus is – er – ill…' he said carefully.

The words served as a reminder. Minerva glanced at her own watch. She was already running ten minutes late. She sighed.

'Listen,' she said to the boy, who was now growing frantic. 'I must go – I was due at the Ministry ten minutes ago. I will tell –'

'You're leaving too?' Harry cut in, looking panicked.

'For a few hours,' she said, letting the interruption slide. 'Albus and I have a meeting with the Minister. But Remus and Severus will be watching, Harry, and Filius will be looking over the school. I will relay what you have told me to the headmaster as soon as I arrive in London.'

Harry was chewing his lip. She sighed again.

'Would you like to go down and see Hagrid for a bit?' she asked, trying to redirect his attention.

Ron's face brightened. 'Did he hear back, professor?' he asked eagerly. 'About Buckbeak?'

She smiled. 'He did,' she confirmed. 'I received a missive from the headmaster a little while ago indicating that they had won their appeal. Hagrid should have returned to the castle by now. I would consider letting you all go down to visit… if, of course, he agrees to walk you back up to the school before nightfall.'

Ron and Hermione both gave quick endorsement. Harry looked torn.

'Harry,' Minerva said, cupping his cheek. 'Go and see Hagrid. It will do you good to get your mind off all this unpleasantness.'

At last, the boy nodded.

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They passed many students heading into the Great Hall as they followed Minerva through the castle. Some turned to stare curiously at them as they passed, but Harry paid them no mind. He was too excited to see Hagrid to care… and too busy fighting the nagging prickling of goose pimples that he still could not shake from Trelawney's prediction.

The grounds were bathed in the golden light that heralded the end of a summer's day. Already, the sun was low over the trees of the Forbidden Forest. Minerva walked them briskly through the grounds, right up to Hagrid's front door.

'Mind you, do _not_ go wandering back on your own,' she warned them as she leaned over Harry's head to knock. 'And do try to be back before night has fallen.'

'We will,' Harry promised quickly. He could hear Hagrid shuffling toward them from beyond the door. 'And you _will_ tell Albus, won't you? When you see him? About what Trelawney –'

'I will, Harry, I promise,' Minerva vowed again. She brushed the top of his head. 'But I really wouldn't worry about it. That woman is nothing but trouble… and prophecies cannot be thwarted, even when they do have a basis in true Sight.'

This did not make Harry feel any better. But before he could voice this discontent, the massive door swung ajar.

'Yeh came!' Hagrid all but bellowed, sweeping forward to catch all three students in a bone-crushing hug. Minerva sidestepped his arms with a practised movement, grimacing a bit in sympathy as the others were released – red-faced and slightly winded.

'I must dash off to meet the headmaster,' she told Hagrid as he straightened. 'You'll be sure to see them back to the castle?'

'O yeah, won't be no problem,' Hagrid assured her. 'Come in – come in you lot. Have a cuppa. I made some rock cakes, if you're peckish…'

Harry glanced over his shoulder once more at Minerva before Hagrid shut the door. She gave him a smile and a small nod, before she hurried off down the path.

It became clear, almost at once, that Hagrid was not drinking tea. He poured Harry, Ron and Hermione steaming cups from the kettle, but he himself was clutching a tankard larger than Harry's cauldron… filled with something that smelled stronger than ale. Hermione raised an eyebrow as he took a deep pull from whatever it was, but none of them could bring themselves to criticise when Hagrid had been so worried for the past fortnight.

'So – er, everything worked out then?' Harry asked when Hagrid emerged, his face a bit ruddier.

'Peachy,' Hagrid agreed with a grin. 'Course, Lucius Malfoy weren't nothin' but slick – yeh know what he's like. An' I was worried he might'a threatened 'em or… well, the executioner, Macnair, he's an old pal o' Malfoy's, and he were sittin' right behind him the whole time. He spoke firs'. But then Dumbledore got up and he said his piece fer me… an' they was all sittin' there stony-like – can' read a one of 'em, that Wizengamot. An' they asked us ter go out so they could debate… They kept us waitin' out there close ter three hours, an' I was gettin' nervous I'd had it. But then they called us back in, an' they said they agree with Dumbledore.'

Harry grinned. 'I knew you'd be alright, Hagrid,' he said, clinking his tea against the tankard. Hagrid took another long pull.

'Thanks,' he said, smiling back.

Ron punched the air with a whoop. 'Smarmy git got what he deserved!' he said with relish. 'What until I tell dad… he hates Lucius more than I hate Draco.'

'It really couldn't have gone any other way,' Hermione put in. She was beaming too. 'You were telling the truth, Hagrid,' she said. 'Buckbeak is alright.'

They celebrated for a good half-hour, Hagrid refilling his tankard twice as he gave them all the details he could of Dumbledore's argument to the Ministry. All three of the students put some of the food he'd laid out onto their plates, but only to appease him. None of them was fool enough to test the cooking.

After a while, Hagrid's conversation grew a bit more slurred, and far more stilted. Ron's stomach started to grumble, and even Harry – through all his simmering unease – was beginning to long for the supper he knew was waiting for them in the Great Hall…

'We should probably go back,' he sighed at last, standing up to peek out Hagrid's window. 'They might get worried if we don't – Hagrid?'

He turned back, wondering why the gamekeeper had not commented.

But Hagrid's eyes were drooping now. His head was lolling back and forth as though teetering on the edge of a cliff.

'Hagrid?' Hermione said tentatively, reaching up to touch his arm.

Harry yanked her back just in time. She gave a squeal as Hagrid's massive head went crashing down, coming to rest with a loud _thunk!_ on the wood of the table.

'Oh!' Hermione breathed in concern. She bent forward, trying to brush Hagrid's mane of hair away from his nose and mouth. 'Do you think he's alright?'

Harry used both hands to push Hagrid's head to the side so he could peer at his forehead. There wasn't even a visible mark.

'He's fine,' he assured her, in mild surprise himself. 'I think he's just… passed out.'

'Too much drink,' Ron offered, nodding sagely. Harry shot him a curious look. Ron shrugged. 'I've seen it happen to my brothers,' he explained. 'He'll sleep it off, eventually. But he won't come to for a bit.'

Hermione bit her lip, still looking anxious. 'Do you think we ought to move him to the bed?' she suggested.

Ron snorted. 'And how're we supposed to manage that?' he asked. 'He's about twelve times our size, Hermione.'

Her eyes flashed. 'We _could_ just levitate him,' she pointed out. 'After all Ron, are you a wizard, or not?'

Ron scowled at the parroted phrase. 'You don't want to mix drink and spellwork, Hermione,' he lectured. 'It has odd consequences, if you don't know what you're doing… I reckon we should just leave him here.'

So Harry fetched Hagrid's circus tent-sized quilt from the massive bed, and the three of them worked it round his shoulders instead. Harry felt awkward leaving Hagrid at the table… but he didn't even stir as they did their best to make him comfortable.

'Now what?' Hermione asked when they'd finished. Behind her, Fang gave a whimper from his cushion.

Harry shot a glance at his watch. 'We ought to get back up to the castle,' he decided. 'It'll be dark soon, and supper must be finished already, or nearly so.'

Ron moaned.

'Don't worry,' Harry said with a slight smile. 'I know the elves. We'll get something to eat.'

'We can't go on our own!' Hermione insisted. 'Especially you, Harry – we'll be in loads of trouble. Professor McGonagall said we had to go with Hagrid.'

Harry shrugged. 'We don't have much choice,' he pointed out. 'We can't spend the night here, Hermione. Minerva and Albus might not be back for ages. And I don't think Hagrid will be walking us anywhere any time soon…'

'We could Floo,' Ron suggested hopefully, looking at the hearth.

Harry shook his head. 'Hagrid doesn't Floo,' he told him. 'He doesn't keep powder. I don't even know if this fire's connected. And unless one of _you_ knows how to send a message by Patronus, I think we're about out of options.'

They really _did_ need to get back up to the castle… and even though Minerva would probably be miffed they'd gone on their own, he was fairly certain her ire would be Hagrid's problem, not his, this time. But Harry's desire to return to the castle, whatever his words to the others, went far deeper than an interest in supper that might not crack his teeth.

If the Seer was real… if the Prophecy was true…

He wanted to be at the school. He wanted to _be_ there – to catch Pettigrew when he made to steal away to his master. And whatever Minerva might have said to the contrary, something in his very soul told him that this _was_ the night it would happen, at long last.

'Fine,' Hermione agreed, though with obvious discontent. 'But let's go quickly, before it gets any later.'

The boys nodded, and Harry gave Hagrid one last glance before they ducked out of the cabin.

The grounds were still and quiet – whatever students might have been milling about clearly gone in to supper or common room celebrations. It was a balmy evening, with insects humming in the grass and the last vestiges of sunset still clinging to the purpling sky and the mullioned windows high on the hill. As they walked, Harry watched a couple of owls take flight from the owlery roost, and wondered if Hedwig had begun her hunting yet for the night.

They were only a few minutes out from Hagrid's hut when it happened.

There was an odd rustling; a squeaking in the grass.

To Harry's shock, Crookshanks' bottlebrush tail whipped suddenly against his legs, as the cat began chasing round their feet in a circle – claws out and teeth bared.

'Crookshanks, what –' Hermione began, reaching toward the cat in confusion. He dodged her.

Ron was scowling, predictably. 'Probably searching for another rat to – Merlin's pants, I don't believe it!'

His face suddenly arrested. The squeaking animal Crookshanks had been pursuing ran up the edge of his robes. Harry froze in horror as he recognised it too.

'It's Scabbers!' Ron went on. Hermione made a practised swipe through the air, intercepting Crookshanks as the cat took a flying leap at Ron.

'Darling, don't!' she cooed at Crookshanks, who was hissing and spitting madly in her grip.

Harry's blood was pounding in his ears. For a long moment, he was completely frozen – staring at the little grey rat… the Rat they'd been hunting fruitlessly for weeks now… the Rat who had started it all, taken it all…

The Servant of the Dark Lord.

The little animal had stopped his shaking, now that Hermione had the cat in a firm grip. Ron bent to lift him off his leg…

'Ron!' Harry cried, rushing toward him as time started up again in a burst of panic and horror. 'Ron – NO! DON'T TOUCH –'

The Rat turned his head at Harry's approach. For the most infinitesimal of moments, the beady black eyes locked with emerald…

Then the animal launched itself at Ron's outstretched hand – no, at his _sleeve_. There was a burst of light and Ron was thrown backward, hitting the ground hard with a shout of surprise. Hermione was screaming, and then she too was blasted backward. Crookshanks was hissing…

And a man stood before him, clutching Ron's wand in a slightly shaking hand with a stub where his index finger ought to have been. He was a very short man, hardly taller than Harry, with grubby clothing that was slightly too big round the middle – as though he had once been rather fat, but lost a great deal of weight very quickly. He had the same small, shifty eyes as the rat he'd left behind, mousy hair that was balding in places, and a sinister leer as he stared hard at Harry.

'You knew,' he accused. His voice was high-pitched and breathy; almost a squeak. Harry wondered wildly whether it had always been that way, or if twelve years as a rat had taken his natural tone. 'I thought, perhaps, you had learned…'

'Yes, I knew,' Harry returned, as bravely as he could. 'You _killed_ them, you traitorous –'

' _Incarcerous_!' the man spat, before Harry could finish, brandishing Ron's wand at him.

He was flung suddenly to the earth, bound from his feet to his chest as the wind was knocked from his lungs. He forced another gasp of air in past the pain.

'Run!' Harry tried to shout at Ron and Hermione, who were both on their feet again and moving toward the pair. 'Run! Get someone – Remus, Sn–'

His voice was cut off as a wad of filthy fabric was shoved forcibly between his teeth. He choked on the gag, spots momentarily dancing in his vision as the man tapped his lips, muttering another charm to seal it.

' _Impedimenta_!' Pettigrew shouted.

There was another bang, and Ron and Hermione were both thrown to the ground again. Harry heard a nasty crack and an even louder roar. Craning his neck, he could see Ron clutching his leg – his face screwed up in pain. Neither he nor Hermione – who was lying quite still several feet away – seemed able to rise. Harry looked around in panic, but there was no sign of anyone else in the grounds.

He felt hot breath on his neck, and heard another muttered charm. A curious lightness spread over his limbs, and he knew Pettigrew had cast a spell to make it easier to drag him off. He tried in vain to struggle – both physically and with his magic. The bonds refused to yield, but the struggle seemed to frustrate his captor.

' _Cr-crucio_!' Pettigrew said, pointing his wand at Harry.

The spell was nowhere near as powerful as the curse he'd undergone the previous summer, but Harry felt white-hot pain rack him all the same. He willed himself not to throw up – knowing he might suffocate with the gag obscuring his mouth.

Wormtail did not hold the spell long, but it was enough to temporarily end Harry's struggle as he tried to master the agony. He could hear Hermione moaning as she began to stir. Ron was pulling himself bodily toward them, even as Pettigrew began to drag Harry across the grass.

'Can't apparate in the grounds,' Pettigrew was saying, huffing with the effort even though he'd cast a spell on Harry. 'Have to move… Can't be seen…'

'Harry!' Ron shouted. 'Hermione, come –'

' _Silencio_!'

Ron's words were cut off, as Pettigrew's spell smacked him full in the face. They were growing farther away now; Pettigrew hauling him backward. After a minute or two they stopped, and Harry's head thunked off the ground as he was released. He wondered, in blind hope, whether someone had spotted them at last… but then the man came into sight, fumbling along the ground. He emerged with a long, thin stick, muttering to himself.

Then he disappeared again. A few moments later, Harry could feel himself being heaved backward once more. Long, thick boughs came into view overhead, obscuring the twilight. And then Harry was being pulled down at an angle, disappearing into what appeared to be a hole in the ground… and he realised.

He was being pulled into the Whomping Willow.

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'Your slothful pace is truly repugnant.'

Severus stood on the threshold to the wolf's quarters once more, where he had been tapping an impatient foot in the corridor for the better part of three full minutes. When his colleague finally bothered to answer the call, he was even more haggard and dishevelled than his usual disagreeable appearance.

'I was sleeping,' Lupin complained, stepping aside to allow Severus entrance. 'I did not hear the knock. Though I think I could have awoken without the aid of the Howler.'

Severus shrugged, indifferent. He had been hoping for an opportunity to use that particular method for some time now.

'If you did not choose to laze away the afternoon, it would not have been needed,' he pointed out.

Lupin scowled. 'You know perfectly well it is full moon. I cannot help it. And I am not particularly pleasant when suddenly awoken this time of the month… that poor elf you sent to open the missive at my bedside thought I might murder her when it went off.'

Severus glared. 'You had better pray you did not, should you wish to keep breathing,' he warned. 'She is my personal favourite.'

Lupin rolled his eyes, but did not deign to reply. Severus thrust the smoking goblet of potion he was clutching at the man. 'You missed coming to retrieve _this_ this afternoon,' he said pointedly.

Lupin took it, but did not drink. He set the goblet onto a table just inside the door, rubbing at his eyes. Severus' glower increased.

'I'll have it, in a moment,' the wolf assured him. 'But it makes me ill at the first swallow if I take it right after awakening. I need a few minutes.'

'It was careless not to come at five, then,' Severus said without sympathy. 'For someone who _claims_ to be such a tame wolf – so attune to the precautions necessary to manage your condition and the safety of this castle – you are growing dangerously blasé, Lupin.'

The werewolf glared in earnest. 'I appreciate your dropping it by,' he said stiffly. 'But I am not _blasé_ , Severus. Merely busy, of late. I have to keep an eye on the Map as often as –'

'And that is why I have come,' Severus finished for him. 'I would have sent an elf with the potion… but I want the Map.'

Lupin furrowed his brow. 'You can't watch, tonight,' he said with a frown. 'You know that. Even with the potion, it may not be safe for you to –'

'You misunderstand,' Severus interrupted. 'I do not care to watch _with_ you, wolf. I wish to have it, for the night.'

There was a beat of silence as Lupin stared at him, dumbstruck.

'No,' he said at last. 'No, you can't. I have to –'

'You can do nothing, even if you see something,' Severus pointed out harshly. 'You will be out of commission through the morning, Lupin. Already your condition has rendered you useless… sleeping in the daylight, when anything could be happening…'

'I keep my mind,' Lupin said defensively. 'With the potion, I keep my mind. I was able to watch just fine the last time I –'

'A mistake,' Severus insisted. 'And not one I shall allow repetition. Particularly not on a night when both Albus and Minerva have gone to London for Merlin knows how long…'

'Gone?' Remus repeated sharply. 'Why? Since when?'

Severus glared. 'If you _bothered_ to turn up in the Great Hall or for any of the past fortnight's staff meetings,' he pointed out with a sneer. 'Then perhaps you would know. They left for a summit on that ridiculous Tournament that Albus has allowed the Ministry to –'

' _Who_ is doing patrol?' Lupin asked, looking suddenly wild.

Severus raised an eyebrow. 'That is my point, you fool!' he spat. 'Tonight lies with _me_ alone. And I suppose that idiot you call a friend, should anything happen… So for the love of –'

But Lupin had turned, shuffling toward the bedroom and muttering to himself.

'I shouldn't have slept,' Severus could hear him ranting through the little quarters. 'I thought, just an hour or so… get ready for the night. Someone would see if anything –'

He reappeared, holding the worn parchment before him and scanning it. Severus yanked it flat against the back of the sofa so he could see as well. His eyes raked the corridors – particularly the seventh floor… but there was no sign of Pettigrew that he could –

'HARRY!' Lupin shouted suddenly, just as Severus had been about to snatch the parchment up. 'MY GOD, NO! SEV –'

But Severus did not need the wolf to finish. He had seen it too, when he moved his hand.

In a far-flung corner of the parchment, four tiny ink dots were moving… and even as they watched, those labelled 'Harry Potter' and 'Peter Pettigrew' squeezed out of view, disappearing beneath the Whomping Willow…

'NO!' Severus roared.

 _He knew it. He'd just fucking_ known _something would happen… Potter could never be trusted to act prudently – never be trusted not to sneak round on his own… And that idiot wolf had been sleeping, and Minerva and Albus were gone…_

 _And the man who'd killed Lily was HERE: was in the grounds. Was with her son._

He blasted the door clear away in his anger, hurtling into the corridor with his wand drawn and a deadly curse already building in his heart.

The wolf scrambled to follow, still stammering as he ran in Severus' wake.

Neither wizard bothered to fix the door back into place.

Nor did either think of the forgotten goblet: still full and smoking on the spindly table in the entryway.

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 39**

 **AlsoKnownAsMatt** : Thank you for reviewing! Hmm… Ron – I'm always of two minds. Sometimes he drives me mental, and other times I love him despite his faults. Won't make promises to off him in the next book… but I also won't promise that everyone lives to the end, either. Hope you enjoy the next chapter!

 **Guest** : Thanks for your review! Another Ron-centric one… I feel I've incited a bit of a Ron-battle with this last instalment. I've commented a bit about my feelings for him above, but yes… I prefer him when he's being a loyal friend as well. :) Enjoy Chapter 40!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thank you for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter and the Quidditch match; I had fun bringing Bathilda and Aberforth back into the mix for some fresh commentary. Hope you like the next one!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for reviewing! And good deduction… If only the others knew! I hope you like Chapter 40!

 **Leonore** : Thank you for reviewing! Very happy you are still liking the book so much, and I hope you enjoy the latest instalment!

 **Mwinter1** : Thanks for reviewing! I tried to post quickly this time… I hope you enjoy the continuation!

 **MystifyingtheMarauders** (Chapter 38): Thank you for your review! I'm glad you are liking the character development and the story, and appreciate your compliment! I hope you enjoy the wind-up.

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thanks for reviewing, and welcome back! I hope everything is going well preparing for graduation, and wish you the best for your ball! (It is Friday afternoon as I write this, so I suppose if the chapter posts _after_ the ball, I intend to say here I hope it was fun!)

Glad you enjoyed the chapters! Bathilda is a character that there's so much left to fill in for, so it's fun to explore her personality a bit and I'm happy you like that. Haha, and yes, I think Lee was _quite_ mortified at the end… As to Sirius, yes he doesn't make a big appearance in Chapter 39, but as you've said he was really the driving force in the past few chapters, so it was time to give him a rest for a bit. Unsurprisingly, he'll factor heavily into the end of the book.

The Room of Requirement! So it's interesting that you're questioning who knows about it… because I debated this while writing. It's not on the Marauder's Map, as we know from canon and holds true here. In canon OOTP, Harry says maybe the Marauders did not know about it, while Hermione suggests it may be part of the magic of the room… so I suppose it's ambiguous. I chose to go with them not knowing about it… because I think it fits better with my story for a few strategic reasons – which hopefully will become clear over the course of the book(s).

I hope you like Chapter 40!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thank you for your review! Glad you're liking it… lots of tension, haha. Enjoy Chapter 40!

 **Kitsunewithin** : Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you're liking the stories and hope you continue to! I understand about the beginning… I am sure a lot of readers felt that way about a canon-based story, but it was necessary in order to set up the vector-approach to this fanfic that I'm aiming for over the course of what will be a pretty long series and to delve into the characters in the way I was hoping to explore them. But I'm glad you stuck with it, and have had the chance to see now where that aim has been taking us, and I'm very happy to hear that you're liking it! Enjoy Chapter 40!


	41. The Shrieking Shack

**A/N:** Hello again! Trying to keep these updates super speedy, so here is Chapter 41. I already have Chapters 42 and 43 written, for the most part, but they need some editing… we are in Scotland for the Easter holiday, but I am hoping my family's distraction with the twins will give me a bit of time to get those finished up and ready to post as soon as possible.

In the meantime, enjoy 'The Shrieking Shack', and **please** **read and review!**

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **Chapter 41: The Shrieking Shack**

Severus raced through the school with Lupin close at his heels. His wand hand was almost trembling with wrath and anticipation; his mind reeling. He could not _believe_ they'd missed it: precisely what they had been awaiting for months.

Lupin…

It had been _his_ job to watch that damn map. And Severus had known it was a terrible idea. He had known he was not up to the task – even without the moon to render him more incompetent than usual. It was their most crucial weapon, the watch of this Map. Their best chance for catching the traitor at last… and their best tool in defence of Lily's boy. Severus should have raised a fuss about entrusting it to the werewolf much earlier than tonight. If Potter was lost for his folly…

'What was he _doing_ , in the grounds without supervision!' Lupin bemoaned, panting slightly as he caught up to Severus' stride. 'What were they thinking?! They know – Harry _knows_ he is not permitted out on his own… and he _knew_ Albus was out of the castle today. Why would he –'

'Do not ask me to contemplate the reasoning behind Potter's insufferable inability to follow directions,' Severus spat. 'It is a quality which continues to beguile me, and one which I have long resigned myself I shall never be able to shake from his thick skull.'

'Tonight, of all nights…' Lupin said in exasperation again. 'When Albus is out of the…'

'Shut up, wolf!' Severus snapped. 'Or I shall murder you as well before the headmaster –'

 _Albus._

Severus halted. Lupin's heels scraped on the floor as he too came to a stop beside him.

'What are you doing?' he asked anxiously. 'Why are you _stopping_?'

'Sending a message,' Severus returned curtly. ' _Expecto_ –'

'NO!'

Lupin lunged at him, grabbing his wand arm and stopping the spell. Severus wrenched it back with a snarl. ' _Have you lost your admittedly feeble_ –?'

'You _can't_! You can't send a Patronus,' Lupin said, as though it was Severus who was out of his mind. 'Albus and Minerva are _with_ the Minister. If you send a Patronus, Fudge and the others will come as well… they'll take Sirius. We _can't_ , until we know – until we're _sure_ – that the Rat has been captured.'

Severus stared. 'You would rather leave Potter without Albus' protection?' he challenged, disbelieving. 'You would rather chance _his_ safety than your moronic mutt's?'

Lupin hesitated. But even as he ranted, Severus saw possibility in the suggestion…

Not that he cared what happened to Sirius Black. If the Ministry allowed those foul creatures their fun with him too… well, the better for Severus. But if Albus was not here, there was nobody to temper Severus' own wrath.

If Albus was not here… there was nobody to insist that taking Pettigrew alive was the only way.

If Albus was not here… there was nobody to spout the virtues of justice over vengeance…

If Albus was not here, Severus could have his revenge. Black and Lupin, he was sure, would not even fight him on it. They wanted the miserable little turncoat dead as badly as he did. If Albus was not here…

Severus could _kill_ Lily's killer.

'… Sirius should be at the end of that passage. He'll find them; there isn't anywhere else that Peter could –'

'Fine,' he said loudly, over whatever nonsense the wolf was still spouting beside him. 'Fine, Lupin. _Your_ way… for now.'

He started running again, embracing the cold fury that filled his soul with a renewed sense of vindictive pleasure.

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The boughs of the Whomping Willow were frozen: at complete odds with the tree's usual vicious nature. As Harry was yanked beneath its roots, he wondered at the odd transformation. He had never before seen the Willow in a state of stillness… and he well remembered the pummelling he, Ron and Mr Weasley's car had taken when they'd unwittingly interrupted its repose at the start of autumn term in their second year. What had made it…

But this was not the time.

 _Focus_.

Harry snapped himself back to attention. He tried. But just as he had been unable to throw his paralysis for so long in Edinburg, so now he found himself unable to magically sever the ropes that bound him. He wished savagely that the traitor had used a padlock… then, perhaps, all those weeks of blasting open chests with Snape might do him some good. Unlocking spells, it seemed, were no use against ropes.

He was pulled down a narrow, muddy slide... and the opening at the base of the Willow faded from view.

The tunnel was damn and musty, and much smaller than the passage he had used to get into Hogsmeade through the one-eyed witch's hump at Christmas. He was sure Peter, even as short as he was, would have to stoop to pass through it.

His captor was grunting with the effort of hauling Harry's supine form behind him as they went, dragging him in starts and stops. Harry wondered whether the feather-light charm was wearing off…

Come to think of it, it was odd that Pettigrew had not used more advanced spellwork, even outside with Ron and Hermione. The _Crucio_ he'd cast on Harry had been weak, and he'd resorted to intermediate hexes rather than deadly curses to stop Harry's friends from following. He wondered whether twelve years without practise had affected the wizard's magic, or if he was simply untalented.

Snape, of course, would have called him mediocre.

But it did not matter now.

 _Focus!_

Harry could not understand it. _Why_ was it so hard to keep himself on task? Had Pettigrew's Cruciatus messed with his brain? He felt a rise of panic at the thought, remembering how Snape and Minerva had whispered of such a possibility in Edinburgh. But there was no way… was there? This spell had not been nearly so powerful.

Perhaps he was just in shock… yes, that would be it. After all, he had rarely been in more perilous straits.

He was sure Ron and Hermione would go for help – or he hoped they would, at any rate. He _hoped_ they wouldn't come after him; that they would go up to the school, instead. But even if they did… could they make it, in time? Ron's leg had looked broken. And Hermione… she hadn't yet been on her feet, that Harry had seen. What if she was badly injured too? Albus was in London, Minerva with him. Remus would be transformed, or close there to. And Sirius…

 _Sirius would be in the Shrieking Shack. In Hogsmeade._

And his heart leapt.

The passages out of the school all led into Hogsmeade, according to Fred and George. _This_ passage was one of them – it was on the Marauder's Map. He'd always assumed it had fallen into disuse because the Whomping Willow had been planted… but, clearly, there was a way around that obstacle.

Would this tunnel let out near Sirius? Would Harry – if he somehow managed to make his irritatingly unpredictable wandless magic kick into gear again – be able to break free and somehow find him? Would Sirius, perhaps, be able to find Harry?

After all… the Marauders had created that Map, hadn't they? Sirius was a Marauder, just like Pettigrew. He would know where it led. And Harry was sure he would come for him, if Ron and Hermione managed to alert someone at the school… if Sirius knew Harry was in trouble; if he knew Wormtail was here, he would come.

Somewhere beyond Harry's head, Wormtail was muttering to himself again.

'Not long. Not long… almost there,' he ranted as he heaved Harry along the filthy earthen floor. 'And then all will be forgiven… They wouldn't dare to whisper against me… All worth it… Harry Potter…'

Harry again realised that he'd been lying there, at war with his thoughts.

 _FOCUS!_

The lingering pain of the Cruciatus was naught but a ghost now, and Harry used the relief to begin his struggle again. He tried to concentrate on reaching his magical core… and, in the meantime, he resumed his writhing.

Pettigrew paused with a grunt of annoyance. Moments later, Harry felt a hard slap across his face.

'You're making this harder than it needs to be!' Wormtail complained in a hiss.

Harry did not stop his writhing. Wormtail slapped him again, but he seemed to feel motion was preferable to pausing in the damp and filthy passage. He resumed his progress with Harry.

Harry was just grateful that he hadn't been put under the Cruciatus curse again. He paid no mind to Wormtail's words, continuing to struggle and ignoring the sting where the mangled hand had struck. Pettigrew's breathing grew heavier still, as he pulled Harry along the passage floor.

After another ten minutes or so, Harry noticed that the tunnel was widening, and growing slightly taller. Pettigrew was wheezing outright with his efforts now, but he yanked Harry harder and faster all the same… they must be reaching the end.

Something pressed sharply against his back. Harry was hauled again, and a second stone joined the assault on his spine.

He realised they were moving up a flight of steps.

'Neearly there,' Wormtail muttered.

Harry's panic reached new heights.

 _Nearly there…_ Did that mean that, once they reached the top of this staircase, Pettigrew would be able to apparate away with him? Nobody had yet come… and he was nearly out of time.

With the surge of terror came the focus that had eluded Harry ever since Pettigrew had bound him. He felt the heat in his chest that he recognised, and he knew he could do it at last. He did not know the traditional spell, but he let his instincts guide him. Just as Pettigrew pulled him up onto what appeared to be the top step, Harry felt the ropes give way at last.

' _What_?!' Pettigrew stammered, apparently shocked. 'How did you –'

Harry did not waste a moment. He pushed himself hurriedly to his feet, and dove at the grubby little man. They struggled – both of them nearly toppling down the staircase again. All Harry could think was that he must get the wand. He must prevent Pettigrew from getting away. He must hold him, until someone came… or until Harry could reverse their positions and drag _Pettigrew_ back down the passage.

'Harry – No! You don't… you don't know who I am. You don't understand –'

'I understand everything!' Harry ground out as he wrestled with his parents' killer. ' _EVERYTHING_! I can hear them… my mum and dad – dying – every time those Dementors get near me. And _you_ did that! I know what you did – you snivelling, pathetic –'

'HARRY!'

A new voice interrupted, very close. Both Harry and Wormtail froze, turning toward it.

Sirius – inexplicably, wonderfully – stood framed in a doorway, the edges of a small sitting room just visible beyond. For a moment, no one moved, pure shock on all three faces…

And then Harry's hands were clutching nothing.

Pettigrew had transformed, again.

' _NO_!' Sirius shouted.

He slashed his wand through the air and Harry ducked, fleetingly sure that Sirius was aiming to kill the traitor. But then a shimmering barrier appeared in the middle of the stone staircase, blocking the Rat from his retreat down the long tunnel. The animal gave a squeal of terror and shot instead between both Harry and Sirius' legs – darting into the little room beyond the door.

Sirius tore after him, and Harry hastened to follow: blood pounding in his ears and trickling from his nose.

'GET HIM!' Sirius bellowed, racing through the room in pursuit of the rat. He himself was blasting the furniture apart with a dozen brightly-coloured spells, his face screwed up in fury and his eyes wild with rage.

'THERE!' Harry screamed, catching sight of the bald tail whipping round a corner.

Sirius dove for it but missed by inches, as the rat sped off toward what appeared to be an upper floor. Harry hurtled after him, stomping up the stairs.

'Move – out of the way!' Sirius was gasping, just feet behind him. 'I don't want to hit you when I kill –'

'We have to _CAPTURE_ him,' Harry shouted, refusing to be deterred. He turned left at the top of the stairs after the rat. 'Not _kill_ him, Sirius. If we kill him, you'll never be free!'

Sirius snarled, but did not reply. The rat dove through a cracked door, and Harry flung it ajar.

It was a tiny, windowless bedroom, where he surmised perhaps Sirius had been sleeping. The blankets on the little bed were mussed, and several candles were flickering: burning low in their holders on the night table and a small chest of drawers. A high wardrobe sat along the opposite wall. There were no other doors out of the room.

Harry slammed shut the one they'd run through, sealing them all inside.

'Under the bed!' Sirius growled, nodding Harry toward it. He himself began to blast the wardrobe apart the way he had most of the furniture downstairs. Harry threw himself to his stomach, wand out as he peered beneath the mattress. But the rat was not hiding in the space below. He straightened.

'Harry –'

'He's not there, Sirius. Check the chest –'

'HARRY!'

Harry cut himself off, his heart sinking at the feminine summons. There were footsteps beyond the door – someone pounding up the stairs… voices, screaming his name.

'Go back!' he shouted desperately toward the corridor. Sirius too froze with his wand in the air, eying the back of the door warily.

'GO BACK!' Harry screamed. 'I'M FINE!'

But he had rarely spoken the phrase with less truth behind the words… and it was too late, in any case.

The door burst open once more.

'HARRY!' Hermione shouted again as she and Ron tumbled into the room. She launched herself at him at once, her face stricken. But Ron, limping in behind her, let out a bellow of rage.

'SIRIUS BLACK!' he cried, staring at Sirius in horror.

Though Ron had no wand; though Harry could see he was white-faced and panting dreadfully; he hopped between Harry and Hermione and Sirius, jaw set.

'Harry oh my God, OH MY GOD!' Hermione was ranting. Her own wand shook as she held it out, detaching herself from Harry and pulling at the back of Ron's robes to yank him back toward her cover.

'NO,' Harry screamed. He tried to bat Hermione's wand down. 'No, you don't understand. It's not what you –'

' _ARGH_!' Sirius growled, pelting toward the door.

And Harry saw that Pettigrew had taken advantage of the moment of chaos. His bald tail flicked out of sight round the edge of the way out, and he disappeared down the corridor again with Sirius close behind.

Harry threw himself after them – there was no time to explain to the others.

'Block the passage!' he shouted at Sirius, knowing that Ron and Hermione must have worked out some way to dismantle the barrier Sirius had installed before. He could hear Ron calling his name again behind him, but Harry did not stop in his own desperate haste to get back downstairs.

 _They were so close… SO CLOSE…_

The sitting room was in shambles: bits of wood from the furniture, feathers from the sofa cushions and strips of the carpet littering the floor. It looked as though a rhinoceros had rampaged the house.

Yet Sirius was still blasting. He'd shut the door into the passage, and another that Harry thought might lead off to a kitchen. As Harry scrambled into the room, Sirius turned, making to cast some other spell at the small corridor to the staircase he'd just exited.

'NO!' Harry cried, lunging himself desperately back into the space. 'Ron and Hermione – you might hit them!'

As if on cue, both Ron and Hermione burst into the room after him. Ron looked as though he might be sick at any moment. His face had gone from white to green, and he was leaning most of his weight on Hermione's shoulder. Harry felt a pang of guilt for making Ron rush about in worry over him.

'Sit, Ron,' Harry said tersely. 'You'll only make it worse.'

'Harry, that's _Sirius Black_ ,' Ron said, as though Harry were being extraordinarily thick. 'You think I'm just going to sit by and let him –'

'Ron, he's not going to hurt me,' said Harry loudly.

'HAVE YOU GONE MENTAL?!' Ron retorted. 'Did you _forget_ everything we've learned this year? Did you _forget_ how he nearly STABBED YOU TO DEATH? Nearly KILLED _ALL_ OF US?!'

Sirius was paying them no mind, busy upturning the sofa and muttering a stream of mixed oaths and curses.

'It's a long story,' Harry said, barely looking at Ron as his own eyes scanned the room for the rat. 'But Ron – it wasn't Sirius who betrayed my mum and dad. It wasn't Sirius who was working for Voldemort. That man… the one who was hiding as Scabbers; the one who took me… that was Peter Pettigrew. _He's_ the traitor.'

'P-Pettigrew?' Hermione repeated faintly. 'But… Harry, that's impossible. You know it is. Pettigrew _died_. Black killed him, twelve years ago.'

'No, he _didn't_ ,' Harry insisted. 'Look – Dumbledore knows the truth. He's been helping me meet with Sirius, for months now. Ever since Easter break. I couldn't tell you,' he added, giving Ron in particular a guilty look. 'I wanted to. I've wanted to for ages… but I couldn't. If anyone had found out before we had captured Pettigrew, Sirius didn't have a chance. And I needed to –'

'Later, Harry!' Sirius cut in sharply. 'The Rat.'

Harry jumped, but obediently scrambled to help again with the hunt. He jerked his focus away from Ron and Hermione's frozen faces, upending the wreckage of the table to have a look beneath.

'Right here,' came the man's own squeaky voice.

Harry and Sirius both turned.

Wormtail had reappeared just where Ron had been standing. He'd thrown the red-haired boy to the floor, where Ron really did sick up at the jolt of the impact.

Harry, however, stiffened in horror as he eyed Pettigrew's arm… which was wrapped around Hermione's neck in a chokehold.

'Move an inch closer, and I will kill her,' the man threatened.

His beady eyes were desperate and darting; his breathing still coming in wheezes. But his hand, holding the tip of Ron's wand to Hermione's temple, did not quake in the slightest.

Hermione whimpered.

Sirius growled. ' _Expell_ -'

' _NO_!' Harry shouted, diving at Sirius and forcing his wand hand down. 'No, Sirius. You can't.'

Sirius snarled again. Pettigrew began sidling toward the opposite wall, dragging Hermione with him like a human shield.

'There's nowhere to go,' Sirius told him coldly, shrugging out from Harry's grip. 'Nowhere left to run, Peter. You can't apparate inside this shack… Dumbledore put the wards up himself. And you can hardly escape the way you came. Even if you did manage to make it through the tunnel, I could have a message to the others in moments. You would never get out of the grounds alive.'

Sweat was glistening on Pettigrew's brow and the bald patch at the top of his head.

'Sirius,' he tried in a shaky voice, 'My friend… my old friend.'

'We are _not_ friends, Peter' Sirius disagreed contemptuously. 'You ceased any claim to my friendship the moment you sold Lily and James to Lord Voldemort. Nothing would give me greater pleasure, _Wormtail_ , than the chance to rip you limb from limb with my bare hands.'

Wormtail's small eyes flashed. Whether in anger or fear, Harry was not sure. He nodded his head toward the outer wall of the house.

'Put a hole through it,' he ordered Sirius.

Sirius gave a hollow laugh. 'You think _I_ would help _you_ to escape?' he mocked. 'That I, for even one moment, would listen to a fucking –'

'You, boy,' Pettigrew redirected, jerking his head at Harry instead. 'This one's _your_ friend, isn't she?'

He shook Hermione roughly by the neck. She choked out a sob, her entire body shaking.

'Blast the wall,' he commanded. 'Or she dies.'

'Harry, don't,' Sirius said, taking one step forward. 'He's bluffing.'

'Bl-bluffing?' Pettigrew repeated, beady eyes glinting again. 'You really want to take that chance, Padfoot?'

Harry didn't.

'He hasn't got the skill for it,' Sirius went on, taking another step toward his prey. 'He never has done. That's a powerful curse, Wormtail. And I have never once seen you wield it successfully. No… you have always excelled at having others do the heavy-lifting, haven't you? Managed to stay alive, by keeping _out_ of the difficult tasks...'

Pettigrew swallowed hard. 'There are other ways to kill, besides the curse,' he reminded Sirius with a nasty grin.

He pressed the tip of the wand harder still into Hermione's temple. She gave another hiccupped sob.

Harry raised his wand. He could not – he _would_ not – take the risk. Would not let Hermione die at this man's hands too. Would not watch another person he loved stolen away through this man's treachery…

' _Confrin_ –'

'Harry – don't –'

There was a blast hard enough to shake the whole house… but it wasn't from Harry's wand.

He spun, shocked, as the door from the passage exploded off its hinges; and two more men rushed into the room.

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Severus had always hated this malicious tree. As he and the wolf drew close to range, the Willow began snapping its branches in anticipation, boughs swinging to block their progression.

'We should have run into Ron and Hermione by now…' Lupin muttered in confusion, a few steps back. 'In the grounds, if not in the castle. You don't think they've gone _after_ him, do you?'

Severus did not pause to contemplate. In this moment, he could not care less what the other members of the Gryffindor golden trio had got themselves up to.

He shot a curse from the end of his wand, sending a pummelling hex directly at the knot at the base of the trunk. The death blows halted. Severus skirted a low-hanging branch and slid like a cricketer through the hollow between the tree's monstrous roots. He had only just moved aside when Lupin flumped down behind him, slightly out of breath.

'Where is he?' the wolf asked, rather stupidly.

Severus snarled, but did not bother to answer. Ignoring the wolf was becoming second nature – his companion's constant musings naught but vague humming in his ears as his mind swirled in wrath and destruction and death.

He flicked his wand again, igniting the tip. A faint glow from behind him told him Lupin had done the same at his back.

'There's no way to escape this passage,' Lupin informed him unnecessarily as they began to move down the long tunnel.

Both men were entirely too tall to make the journey quickly. Severus' spine was screaming in protest as he shuffled, bent-kneed and hunched at a near ninety-degree angle… but he absolutely refused to suffer the indignity of crawling with the wolf to witness. He suspected, from the four-limbed scrabbling he could hear behind him, that Lupin did not have the same reservations.

'The Shrieking Shack is at the only other way out of this –'

'I _know_ where this wretched passage leads,' Severus interrupted testily. 'I have been here before, Lupin… or had you forgotten?'

He could feel the werewolf's scowl, even if he could not see him. 'Of course I haven't,' the man said quietly. 'I just meant to –'

'Shut up, you idiot!' Severus snapped. 'What if they have not yet made it to your precious mutt? Do you wish to give away our position?'

'It isn't as though there's much a chance of _hiding_ our position in here,' Lupin pointed out.

And he was quite right. The passage was already so narrow that they were forced to move single-file. Should Pettigrew choose to chance a retreat from the Shack, they stood no chance of avoiding his notice.

Not that Severus cared to avoid him, in the slightest.

The passage was longer than Severus remembered; though admittedly he had not traversed the full length during his single previous visit. He had also been several inches shorter, nearly twenty years younger, and several dozen Cruciatus curses lighter on that excursion.

It seemed to take ages to reach an end… though, of course, the Shrieking Shack _was_ on the very outskirts of the village. At long last, however, the tunnel began to widen and raise. Severus felt hot breath as the werewolf took the opportunity to move alongside him. There was a short staircase ahead, a shimmering purple haze obscuring the door to the house from sight. Severus moved toward it, wand out to dispel the barrier…

But he jumped back; pushing roughly into Lupin as he bit down on a cry of pain.

'What is it?' Lupin demanded, steadying Severus much to the latter's chagrin. 'Is the barrier cursed? Peter –'

'No,' Severus said through gritted teeth. He gave in to temptation, rubbing at the searing pain in his left forearm. 'This was not Pettigrew… it is Black's work.'

'Sirius?' Lupin repeated in confusion. 'But why would –'

'To stop Pettigrew retreating, you dolt,' Severus spat. He felt slightly humiliated having to give the request out loud. ' _You_ may pass through without harm, I expect… but you will need to remove it for me. I could undo the enchantment, but it would take time that we do not have.'

'But why –'

'It is _spelled_ against those with the Mark,' Severus ground out impatiently. 'An old Order barrier – surely you recognise it? I'm sure I do not have to lay out why I cannot –'

'No, alright,' Lupin said quickly. He stepped around Severus, brandishing his wand.

Lupin spun the weapon in an intricate pattern at the purple haze, and Severus felt the lingering pulse of heat in his arm dissipate. He grunted something that might have been gratitude, and brushed past the wolf to be first up the stairs.

The door, naturally, was locked. Severus did not feel in a mood for testing which charm might counter it.

' _Confringo_!' he bellowed instead, directing the blasting hex straight at the centre of the wood.

With a colossal explosion, the door was blown off its hinges.

The room – Severus registered in a split second's glance – was a complete disaster. The werewolf might have just left it after one of his monthly terrors. Potter was standing in the middle of the wreckage, his wand outstretched before him. Black stood a few paces in front of him, frozen like the boy with his face turned to the door. The Weasley brat was sprawled on the ground, clearly injured, his robes nauseatingly splashed with what appeared to be sick.

And the Rat was rat no longer.

He looked nearly the same as Severus remembered – though a bit thinner and with far less hair. He was poised adjacent to the exterior wall, Granger pressed to his chest with his wand at her temple. The girl was sobbing. Pettigrew's eyes – like the boy's and the mutt's – were fixed on the newcomers.

' _Expelliarmus_!' Severus cried at once.

The man's wand flew high into the air, and Severus caught it as he rushed into the room. Pettigrew gave a squeal of terror. He threw the girl in Severus' path and turned to run.

'Don't even _think_ about it!' Lupin snarled, stepping in to block the traitor's escape. Pettigrew made to push past him, and Lupin shoved him roughly. He fell to his back on the ground, scrambling backward like a crab as Lupin loomed overhead, his wand trained on Pettigrew's chest.

Severus caught Granger before she could take them both down. He set her on her feet distractedly. The he turned, the cold fury building in his chest again as he stalked toward the cornered rat.

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'Are you alight?' Harry asked Hermione anxiously. The adults were swarming Pettigrew's fallen form… but Harry knew he owed Hermione and Ron his attention for a moment.

She gave a tentative nod, wiping the remnants of tears from her cheeks. 'Fine,' she assured him. 'Ron?'

Hermione hurried over to check on him, hissing in sympathy as she lifted the robes over his injured leg.

'I'll live,' Ron said darkly. He gave a sardonic smile as he pushed himself a bit straighter on the floor, though he did not make any attempt to stand. 'Blimey, _never_ have an easy end of term, do we?' he joked.

Harry managed the shadow of a grin. From the corner, he could hear Pettigrew grovelling. He left Hermione to fuss over Ron, moving closer to the others.

' – was never brave like you, or Remus or James,' the rat was sobbing, apparently to Sirius. 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would have killed me! He _tricked_ me, Sirius, he –'

'DO NOT _LIE_!' Sirius spat, as Harry came up behind them. 'The charm allows only the _willing_ revelation of the Secret-Keeper, Peter. You knew precisely what you were doing. You were passing information to Voldemort for a _year_ before James and Lily were killed. You betrayed the entire Order…'

'What's the Order?' Harry asked curiously.

Everyone ignored him.

'You were the spy,' Snape put in quietly. His obsidian eyes were glittering; his face full of suppressed triumph as he inched closer to Pettigrew. ' _How_ the idiots in the Order did not see that I have no idea… but now you are hated everywhere, aren't you, _Pettigrew_? Your friends in the Order have learned your true colours; and your Death Eater comrades would want your blood just as badly, perhaps more so, if they knew you survived. You sent the Dark Lord to his destruction…'

' _No_!' Pettigrew shouted. He was looking at Snape with nearly as much fear as he had Sirius. 'No… I did not know!'

'Know what?' Remus challenged. 'Know that you were betraying your best friends; the people that would have died for you, and gladly, had your roles been reversed? Or known that you were leading your true master to his downfall?'

Wormtail gulped. His gaze darted between the three men and the door… but he did not reply to the query.

'The latter, I suspect,' Snape answered for him. 'He would not have stayed hidden these twelve long years, from a man believed to be entombed in Azkaban. No… he kept his pathetic existence in the shadows because he feared the Dark Lord's wrath; or his followers' quest for retribution. They are not so easy a lot to outrun,' he added with a malicious leer. 'They do not have the headmaster's compassion. They do not forgive…'

'Vengeance…' he crooned, sneering down at Pettigrew as he stepped closer, 'Is _very_ sweet…'

'What you claim to have known does not matter,' Sirius said quietly. He too moved forward another step.

Remus mirrored the advance. 'What you _should_ have known, Wormtail… was that if Voldemort did not kill you, we certainly would.'

He pushed back his sleeves, nodding once to Sirius, and once – almost shocking Harry with the oddly courteous gesture – to Snape.

In unison, the three men pointed their wands straight at Pettigrew's chest.

He whimpered again, shaking on the ground: nowhere left to run.

A thrill rose up Harry's spine.

This was it. This was the moment. This was the man – the pathetic, traitorous, worthless little man who had sent Lord Voldemort to his parents' home that night. The man who had stolen them from Harry forever; killed them, with his greed and his betrayal, just as assuredly as if he'd struck the fatal curse himself. Harry could get his revenge, in this moment. He could let Sirius and Remus and Snape avenge his parents' murders… His life, for theirs. A debt, repaid. Justice.

But… was it? Was this what justice felt like?

If it was, then why did Harry have a feeling in his chest as though someone were running electricity through his heart? If this was righteous – then why did he feel as though the world were about to burn?

' _No_!'

Harry flung himself between the men and Pettigrew, his arms outstretched. Remus and Sirius paused, lowering their wands at once, but Snape pushed forward with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

'OUT OF THE WAY, POTTER!' he growled.

Harry refused to move.

'You _can't_ kill him!' he pleaded. 'You can't! Albus says… he says it damages the soul forever, taking a life. And he's more use to us alive, anyway. His testimony can prove Sirius is innocent – the Minister will have to listen! Then he can go to the Dementors: can rot in Azkaban, like he deserves.'

'He deserves worse than that,' Sirius muttered darkly. 'He warrants no mercy, Harry. He deserves the Kiss, for the things he's done.'

'A fate worse than Death,' Harry remembered, acknowledging Sirius but not shifting his gaze from Snape. 'Let him have that, sir. Let them take him away. Let them take his soul, if that's what the Ministry decides to do to him. But don't… don't kill him.'

Even as he said the words, he was surprising himself – a little – that they came. Until this final moment; until the choice was _really_ staring him in the face… he had thought he'd wanted Pettigrew dead just as badly as they did.

'You are the only one who truly has the right to decide, Harry,' Sirius opined, though he looked very much as though it cost him everything to spare the betrayer's life. 'But… are you sure? _Quite_ sure? Don't worry about me; we can prove my case without the help of this vermin's breath. His body would be sufficient to –'

'No,' said Harry firmly. 'If he's dead, how can we be sure they'll believe your version of things? We've done what we meant to do: we've captured him. And…' he hesitated, unable to think quite how to phrase this next bit. 'I didn't know my dad, the way that you did,' he began, looking at both Sirius and Remus now. 'I'll never have the chance to –'

'Because of _him_!' Sirius interrupted viciously.

Harry held up a hand. 'Let me finish!' he insisted.

Sirius was breathing heavily again, but he nodded.

'I'll never know my dad,' Harry went on, 'Or my mum. Not like you did. But I…' he swallowed hard. 'I've seen them – bits of them, in memories. I've heard about them: from you, Albus, Minerva, Aberforth and even Bathilda. I know that they were _good._ They stood up for what was right. And… I can't imagine they'd want you to become murderers. Not like this. Not for _Wormtail_. This isn't a battle or a war… it isn't as though you haven't got another choice. So do what they would have wanted. Give Pettigrew to the Ministry. Get justice, the way it's supposed to happen.'

There was a moment of silence as he finished. Then Remus stowed his wand, laying a hand on Sirius' arm. He looked at the Potions Master.

'Harry is right, Severus,' Remus said softly. 'We'll take him back to the school; to Albus. He can handle the Ministry. Sirius – come on.'

He pulled Sirius away from the crouched, snivelling form upon the floor. Sirius let himself be dragged back and pushed into the one threadbare chair on the opposite side of the little room that had mercifully survived his rampage without comment, looking a bit ornery but resigned. Remus perched himself on the arm.

Harry relaxed just a fraction. But then –

' _NO!_ ' Snape cried.

His face was twisted – almost deranged. He looked beyond any level of fury Harry had ever witnessed before. Closing the distance in two long strides, he grabbed Harry by the shoulder and tossed him roughly aside. Harry skittered on his bum along the ground, his wand clattering away as he shot out his hands to save his face from impact.

All was chaos.

Remus and Sirius half-rose from their places again, Sirius reaching toward Harry from across the room and Remus turning to Snape…

Ron and Hermione gave identical shrieks of horror, rushing toward him too…

But Harry saw only the two at the centre of the conflict: Pettigrew, his arms over his face in terror, on his back upon the floor; and Snape – his wand arm raised, his eyes glinting, a deadly curse at his lips.

'Professor, _STOP_!' Harry bellowed.

' _Avada_ –'

It happened before he knew what, exactly, it was. Before he could even think about controlling it.

Snape's wand slashed through the air, his mouth spewing what Harry knew instinctively were fatal words… and Harry's magic reacted faster than his conscious mind. He flung out a hand from his place on the floor – and a powerful beam of light shot from his palm to do his bidding. The spell was pure white, and brighter than any Harry could remember casting before in his life.

It smacked Snape hard in the chest.

The Potions Master's wand spun clear across the room, falling to the floor at Hermione's feet. The man was blown backward with as much force as the door he himself had exploded off its hinges. His face flashed from rage to shock and back to fury again, before he crashed hard into the opposite wall… sliding to the ground where he remained, still and motionless.

'Merlin!' Ron exclaimed in a shaky voice.

'Oh my God,' Hermione squealed in terror. 'Harry – _oh my God!_ You've attacked –'

'Severus,' Remus said, jumping up at once to go crouch at Snape's side. He started to shake his shoulder. 'Severus!'

'H-Harry.'

Harry turned, shaken from his own numb contemplation of Snape's unconscious form as Pettigrew shuffled toward him on his knees.

'Harry… sweet boy… kind boy… you saved my –'

'GET AWAY FROM HIM!' Sirius growled. He too had jumped fully to his feet, though Harry had not noticed. Sirius pushed Pettigrew forcefully away from him, his face as furious as Snape's had been before the attack.

'You are lucky that Harry was here,' he hissed in a low voice. 'I assure you, Wormtail, _I_ would not have been so generous. _I_ would have let Snape –'

'Is he alright?' Harry asked anxiously over Sirius' diatribe. He scrambled off the ground, trying to get around his godfather to have a look at Snape.

'He's been knocked out,' Remus told him seriously. 'But I don't think he is in any immediate danger. You were just a bit… over enthusiastic. There shan't be any lasting damage.'

Harry's heart relaxed a tiny bit, though he doubted this assessment. He was glad that the professor would not be permanently disabled from Harry's surge of magic… but he was willing to bet everything he owned – including his new Firebolt – that Snape's reaction to Harry's show of temper would not be quite so empathetic. Not least because this sort of brute force wandless casting was precisely what Snape had been trying to deter Harry from using for almost the entire year.

'Harry, where the _hell_ did that come from?' Ron demanded, as if following Harry's mental train of thought. He sat up a bit straighter, looking both impressed and wary. 'I knew you'd been taking those lessons, mate, but that was –'

'Really bad,' Harry finished, with another dark look at the professor's crumpled form. ' _Really_ bad… Snape's going to kill me when he wakes up.'

'He won't,' Sirius growled. 'I promise you, Harry. I will not allow him to say a damn word about it.'

Remus' eyes softened as he looked into Harry's anxious face. 'Severus will understand, Harry,' he said.

Harry gave a hollow laugh. His adrenaline was fading now and – as he always had done after a particularly powerful bout of wandless magic – he was starting to feel rather drained.

'You should sit,' Remus opined, apparently picking up on this. Harry ignored him.

'Can't – can't you wake Professor Snape, sir?' Hermione asked tearfully. She was still sitting next to Ron on the floor. Her fingers trembled as she picked up Snape's wand from where Harry's spell had flung it against her trainers.

Remus shook his head. 'I could, but it would not be wise,' he told her gently. 'It is best not to disturb someone with a head injury… until either they come to on their own, or someone with more healing training has had a look.'

Harry was not sure whether this was true. He suspected, for all Remus' talk of understanding, that the Defence professor too recognised that Snape was likely to murder Harry the moment his eyes reopened. Perhaps he thought it would be unwise to unleash Snape's anger in the Shack again.

'In fact,' Remus went on, looking around the room, 'We ought to be getting back, Sirius. We must speak to Albus. Severus should see Madam Pomfrey, and the children –'

'Hang on!' Ron put in angrily. 'You aren't going to explain what the hell is going on here?! How did this all happen? Who knew about it? _Why_ hasn't the Ministry been told? And how long –' he faltered, looking ill again. 'How long has _this_ man been sleeping on my pillow?!'

Harry, Remus and Sirius all exchanged tense looks.

'We should tell him,' Harry said, when it appeared the others were not going to speak. 'They… they deserve to know. I can't stand keeping the secret.'

'Then do it quickly,' Sirius said in a clipped voice. He still kept his wand trained on Pettigrew, his eyes hard. He took one step forward and Harry wavered before he began, sliding himself toward the prisoner again.

'Relax,' Sirius said, laying his right hand on Harry's arm. 'I'm only going to bind him, I swear.'

Harry gazed into his eyes for a moment, trying to discern whether he was lying… then he nodded. Sirius waved his left hand at the man on the floor, and ropes – thicker and darker than those Pettigrew had used on Harry – wound themselves snakelike around the wizard's body. Sirius gave a second flick of his wand, and a gag wedged itself between Wormtail's teeth.

'Alright,' he said. 'Go ahead, Harry.'

So Harry explained – abbreviated, and with some help from Remus and Sirius – about everything. He told Ron and Hermione about the Fidelius Charm and the switch… how Pettigrew had managed to escape the Ministry and tricked them into blaming Sirius… how Albus had discovered the truth, and the weeks since. He even explained – after a significant look at Remus and with many muttered interruptions from Ron – about Remus being a werewolf, and how that had led all three of his friends into becoming Animagi. Remus and Sirius added some information Harry had not known: including that the house they were in was, in fact, the Shrieking Shack… and that this was where Remus had come to transform, when he'd been at Hogwarts as a student and the Wolfsbane Potion was not yet in existence.

When he'd finished, Ron looked down at the man who had been acting his pet for the past decade with pure hatred in his face. 'I should have let the cat have him after all,' he mumbled savagely.

Sirius grinned. 'Smart cat,' he said, giving Hermione a respectful inclination of his head. 'He might have a bit of Kneazle in him, that one. I managed to convince him I was trustworthy… he was helping me, trying to bring Peter to me.'

'Sirius, we need to go,' Lupin said again, watching Pettigrew with a frown. 'Albus should be back shortly…'

Sirius nodded, and Harry moved to help Ron.

'Wait,' Sirius called, stepping toward them. He pointed his wand at Ron's leg. ' _Ferula._ '

Ron allowed Harry and Hermione to pull him to his feet, testing his weight gingerly on the injured leg. He managed to put it down without wincing too badly.

'Thanks,' he said to Sirius. Then he looked around. 'My wand – Pettigrew was using it...'

Remus rummaged in Snape's robes for a moment. He held out the wand, and Harry passed it back. Ron took it gratefully.

Remus was pacing, rubbing at his chin. 'We'll have to drag him,' he muttered to Sirius.

Sirius nodded. He moved to hover over Pettigrew again. 'Fine,' he agreed. 'But if you transform, Peter, we _will_ kill you.'

He looked at Harry as he said it. Harry nodded slowly, so that Pettigrew would see. Sirius bent down to gather up the robes that bound the traitor. Harry moved to help Ron and Hermione toward the door. He paused, looking at the Potions Master.

'Sirius,' Remus called, a bit softer.

'Sirius, what about Snape?' Harry asked.

'Sirius –'

Sirius hesitated. 'I can levitate him,' he decided. 'Here – you and Hermione drag this thing, and I'll –'

' _SIRIUS_!'

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Sirius all turned. Lupin was frozen in his pacing, suddenly bathed in a cool light from the window, creeping through the tattered curtains…

The moonlight.

His body was rigid, yet shaking… his face arrested in an expression of mingled horror and pain…

And Harry realised with a jolt what was about to happen.

'No… potion…' Remus ground out, his eyes shifting from desperation to madness like a man fighting demon possession.

Sirius' jaw dropped in horror.

Harry's heart was pounding, every hair he had on end…

'He hasn't taken the Wolfsbane!' Hermione squealed, her hand flying to her mouth. 'He's… he won't be _safe_!'

'SIRIUS – GET THEM OUT!' Remus roared in a strangled cry. His hands were balled into fists, his very magic changing, shifting…

His face was elongating, his clothing ripping as fur sprouted out from his skin… his hands burst their fists, morphing grotesquely… growing claws long as daggers…

He was transforming.

And Harry could see that he couldn't control it. Not this time.

Remus was becoming Werewolf, before their very eyes.

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 40**

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for your review! Haha, yes… Remus, in fact, has been quietly losing his mind over the past few chapters. The potion mishap is sort of the culmination of that distraction. As to how the story will end – you know I can't tell you that ;). But hopefully you will enjoy it all the same. There are important developments for Sirius' character that I am excited to share. Enjoy Chapter 41!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for reviewing! Haha perfectly true… When Albus leaves, chaos doth often ensue. Hope you like the next chapter!

 **SPJaymo117** : Thank you for reviewing! Haha, I completely understand… I often have to read straight to the end of what's available before reviewing too; it's difficult to pause. But I am glad to see your comments now, and very happy you're enjoying the books thus far! I actually quite like your theory… but I don't want to comment on quite how this tale will end. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing!

 **Mwinter1** : Thank you for your review! I'm trying to keep the updates as quick as I can.

 **Leonore** : Thanks for reviewing! I'm very glad you're enjoying the story so much and happy to hear you felt it was organic – I don't want to make this a 'deux ex machina' conclusion. Ah – Albus out of the castle never bodes well, does it? And on Cho – great to see you enjoyed her inclusion in the Trelawney scene. There is _definitely_ a story to the bit about her mum, but it wasn't the right moment for that revelation. We will have it though, eventually. She's another character with more behind her story that what we've seen so far. The kidnapping is where we'll pick up this chapter… but I had to put the Sirius scene with Harry in this last one, for reasons that I think will become clear, even though originally I'd thought about sitting on that one. Glad you liked it here.

Enjoy Chapter 41!


	42. The Prisoner's Dilemma

**A/N:** Alright my darlings… _penultimate_ chapter! Thank you for your patience as this one went through the editing process – I know it was longer than anticipated. I hope you are all as excited as I am… for as early as end of week-end (and no later, I expect, than mid-week next), we will finally conclude Part II and embark on the perilous journey that will be Part III!

The title to this chapter, for those who are unfamiliar with the phrase, comes from traditional 'Game Theory' analytics. I would explain it here, but it is rather complex and would probably make for an overlong A/N. I encourage you to look it up yourselves, however, as it is a fascinating concept.

Enjoy 'The Prisoner's Dilemma', and **please** **read and review!**

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **Chapter 42: The Prisoner's Dilemma**

'Long day, I would imagine?'

Albus lifted his gaze from the scroll he'd been perusing at the sound of Minerva's voice; he hadn't even noticed her arrival. He smiled as he watched her walk around the huge, circular table toward him.

The chamber was one of the Ministry's most ostentatious – used primarily by the Minister himself when meeting with foreign dignitaries. Candles in shades of violet and blue flickered in ornate silver and gold chandeliers overhead. The floor was marble of the deepest black, flecked with gold. Portraits of a dozen stately witches and wizards – all former Ministers themselves – hung at intervals between the many sconces set upon the high, rounded walls. In the centre of the room sat the chamber's only furniture: a great, perfectly round table with twelve high-backed chairs of equal height. The table was reminiscent, deliberately, of Merlin's gift to Arthur.

Albus was unsurprised that Fudge had chosen this room for negotiations with their visiting foreign guests. British wizarding elegance… or snobbery, depending on how you viewed the world. Steeped in their oldest and most treasured tradition, as so much of the Ministry was.

Albus was not sure how wise it was to cling to every facet of the past.

'Not short,' he allowed as the Transfiguration professor drew near. 'But I dare say I have had longer.'

He pulled out the chair next to him, offering Minerva the place wordlessly. She took it, and smoothed out the skirts of her robes as she sat.

'And was the hearing with the Wizengamot as gloomy a prospect as you imagined it might be?' she inquired.

Albus furrowed his brow. He shot a quick privacy charm around them, shielding their conversation from whatever portraits might be feigning their slumber. Artemisia Lufkin scratched irritably at the end of her nose.

'No,' the headmaster said slowly. 'Or, at least, not so far as to count it a loss for Hagrid or myself. But I do suspect that someone had bent Cornelius' ear… they were a very long time in coming to their decision.'

Minerva wrinkled her nose. 'And how was Fudge?' she asked.

Albus deliberated the query for a moment. 'Distant,' he decided at last. 'But not swayed, ultimately, by whoever might have attempted to sow the seeds of dissention. It was clear that he did not relish incurring Lucius Malfoy's wrath… but I expect he decided to risk my own was a greater damnation.'

'A wise decision, then,' Minerva approved. She pulled the scroll so it lay between them, scanning the list of proposals up for compromise tonight. She sighed. 'Really?' she complained, indicating number 37, 'The Weird Sisters or Celestina Warbeck? How is _that_ even up for discussion?'

Albus snorted. 'Indeed,' he agreed with a chuckle. He gave a sigh of his own. 'Unfortunately, I have not yet been in one of these meetings where we did not debate every serviette placement until the small hours of the morning. I suspect Igor cannot help himself.'

Minerva grunted in agreement. 'To be fair, Olympe is quite finnicky herself, if memory serves.'

'Hmm,' Albus said noncommittally. 'What news from the castle?' he redirected.

Minerva sighed again. 'Not much to report,' she said. 'All was fairly quiet when I left this evening. A spot of bother in the Hufflepuff common room earlier from some post-exam revelry, but nothing Pomona could not deal with. There was a moment between Harry and Sybill…'

'What sort of moment?' Albus asked, a bit more sharply than he'd intended. Minerva raised an eyebrow before responding.

'The _Sybill_ sort,' she said pointedly. 'Blethering on about You-Know-Who rising again, according to Harry.'

Albus felt his blood chill slightly. The candles overhead flickered in response. He shot a glance at his pocket watch – they only had five minutes or so before the others were due to start arriving.

'What, precisely, did Harry tell you?'

'That when he visited her classroom to sit his examination, Sybill told him that the Dark Lord would rise again, with his servant's assistance,' she replied. 'He was quite unnerved – came down to see me not long after, with Weasley and Ms Granger. He said that Sybill claimed not to remember any of it, when he questioned the prediction.'

Albus' frown deepened, and Minerva's eyes grew disapproving.

'Albus, not you too,' she chastised. 'Honestly… I know what your history with Sybill has been, but that was _one_ prophecy, and it was nearly fifteen years ago. Don't you think it far more likely she was merely celebrating the end of term in her own _unique_ manner? After all, if every prospect of doom Sybill has uttered came to pass, we would be living in a smoking hovel by now… if we were alive at all.'

'Perhaps,' Albus allowed. 'But I am less sanguine on this score, my dear. What you are describing bears notable resemblance to the incident I witnessed that January night, not least because Sybill did not have conscious memory of that prophecy either.'

Minerva huffed impatiently… but Albus could see the flash of disquiet behind her spectacles. He was scaring her, with this talk of prophecy. He did not doubt that the words of Trelawney's first prediction were echoing in the recesses of her mind… as they were in his own.

'I shall speak to Harry about it myself, when we have returned,' he decided. 'Tonight, however –'

'Ah, good evening Dumbledore, Minerva.'

Albus vanished their privacy charm wordlessly, leaning back from his huddle with Minerva and hitching a pleasant smile back on his face as Bartemius Crouch entered the room – prompt to the second, as usual, his arms laden down with carefully stacked files. Ludo Bagman hurried through the door in his wake, bouncing in his boots with excitement. The former Beater was empty handed.

'All sorted then?' Bagman asked gleefully as he found his own seat. 'Excellent, excellent. Others should be here soon, I expect. Lots to get through tonight, eh? And Barty here's got a bone to pick with the merfolk's involvement…'

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'SIRIUS – GET THEM OUT!'

Watching Remus contort in the sitting room of the Shrieking Shack, Harry was nearly numb with shock.

Sirius, however, wasted no time. He shoved his wand between his teeth, copped hold of Harry's arm with his rope-free hand, and yanked both him and Pettigrew toward the cavernous hole that had once been the doorway to the passage.

Ron and Hermione were closest to the way out: both frozen and staring, transfixed, at the Defence professor.

'GO!' Sirius shouted at them.

He shoved Harry and Pettigrew through first. Harry thought for certain he would crash arse over face down the stairs… but the second Sirius tossed him, Hermione came out of her stupor. She screamed a Cushioning charm, and Harry saw a flash of violet light beat him to the impact. It softened Harry's bounce as he and the traitor descended in a heap. Moments later, Sirius had thrust Ron and Hermione through as well. They landed beside him, Ron's face screwed up again from pain. He gave a stifled moan.

Sirius launched himself over the threshold.

'Snape!' Harry cried, as his godfather made for the stairs. 'We can't just –'

Sirius muttered an oath, but he turned. Harry could hear snarling above. He knew the werewolf was feet from them.

Sirius gave a jerk of his wand, and Snape's limp form shot out into the passage. The Potion Master's feet had barely cleared the gaping hole before the werewolf's face appeared at the edge of the tattered entryway. He was fully formed now: more than six feet long, with talons like daggers; gleaming, three-inch teeth; and huge, oddly human eyes filled with nothing but bloodlust. His hackles were raised as he crouched, ready to spring…

' _Muri Fictilis_!' Sirius bellowed.

He brandished his wand like the handle of a whip. A massive, solid wall sprang into being where minutes ago the gap had been, closing the passage just in time. They heard thick nails tearing at the reformed wall, but the wolf was no longer able to pounce.

'Will it hold?' Hermione gasped as she helped Ron to his feet.

Sirius bent, tightening several of Peter's bonds by hand.

'For a time,' he said darkly. 'But not forever. The willow will contain him, if we can manage to get out before he breaks through the barrier. We need to move – now.'

The others did not require a repeated warning. Harry hurried to help Hermione on Ron's other side, turning them on an awkward angle so they could shuffle through the low-ceilinged passage.

'We could drag him?' Harry offered, nodding his head at Pettigrew. The man's muffled whimpering could be heard even through the gag. 'You don't have to manage both him and Snape…'

Sirius snorted. 'I want _neither_ of them outside my grasp,' he said through gritted teeth. He cast the same charm on Pettigrew that the latter had set on Harry to drag him through the willow's roots, before levitating the Potions professor off the earthen floor. Harry winced as he saw Snape's head crack nastily against a jutting rock in the light from Hermione's wand.

'Do you have to be so rough with him?' Harry muttered, still feeling quite guilty for his part in Snape's current indisposition.

Sirius and Ron made identical noises of disgust, but Sirius lowered his wand a fraction to take Snape's skull out of immediate danger. The scrabbling continued at the newly-minted wall, sounding rather as though it were the flimsy barricade between a tiger and a lamb.

Which, Harry reminded himself with another swoop of horror, it essentially was.

Hermione gave another squeal of terror.

'Go,' Sirius said, nodding the others ahead. 'And quickly.'

They went.

Moving Ron was hard work. The bandaging did seem to help his leg, but he was still having trouble putting his full weight on it, and Harry and Hermione could not walk on either side given the narrow confines of the space. Instead, Hermione went in front with the lit wand, half-dragging Ron along, while Harry provided his own arm for support at Ron's back.

Behind them, Harry could tell Sirius was struggling with his own double-burden.

'This would be easier if you would _keep still, Peter_!' he growled. 'If you think this blubbering will make me _less_ likely to kill you, you are sadly mistaken.'

Harry half-turned in his crouch, frowning back at his godfather while trying not to accidentally twist Ron's arm out of its socket.

'Why don't you just stun him, if he's that much of a pain?' he suggested. 'It would be easier then to drag him along…'

'No,' said Sirius gruffly. 'I don't want to give him the courtesy. I _want_ him in fear… I want him to feel every inch of this – every second that his doom grows closer. Stunning him is the easy way out.'

Harry stared.

Sirius sighed. 'Keep moving,' he said, nodding Harry forward. 'It's harder to keep Snivellus aloft when we're still like this… and Remus may be along any moment.'

Harry jumped slightly, and he hurried to comply. Hermione had already pulled Ron from his grip, helping him along the passage herself as Harry dawdled. The tunnel was darker with her wandlight so far away, and Harry lit his own to compensate. A few spiders scuttled out of its beam. From behind them, Harry could still hear the wolf's snarling.

'Why do you call him _Snivellus_?' Harry asked, trying to distract himself from rising panic.

Sirius gave a short laugh. 'I have no idea where it came from,' he admitted. 'Sometime when we were at school, but I can't remember now when it was, exactly. We always hated each other…'

Harry frowned, glad Sirius could not see his face. He was no great fan of Snape's either; but he didn't understand the level of sheer contempt both men showed for one another.

'I sent him down here, once,' Sirius recalled aloud. 'We were fifteen, I think. He'd been nosing about as usual, trying to get us all into trouble… making insinuations about Remus – guessing, correctly, why he was so often out of lessons at the full moon. He'd spied on him, like James and I did when we first suspected something was amiss. He'd seen Madam Pomfrey lead him out to the Willow…'

Harry paused again. He felt Snape's form smack into him, floating as it was between himself and Sirius in the passage.

' _Move_ , Harry!' Sirius hissed. 'Remus –'

'What do you mean, you sent Snape down here?' Harry asked slowly, still unmoving. 'Down the tunnel? To a _werewolf_?!'

Sirius was scowling, Harry thought. It was hard to be sure with Hermione and her wandlight so much further down the tunnel.

'Well not _to_ a werewolf,' he hedged. 'I just told him if he prodded the knot at the base of the trunk, he'd be able to see where Remus got to.'

'That was nasty,' Harry said, more upset than he'd thought he'd be. 'What did you think was going to happen? What if he'd got attacked? What if he _died_ , Sirius?'

'You sound like James,' Sirius muttered.

For the first time in the dozens that he'd said the words – or similar ones – to Harry, his voice was not enthused.

'It was just a laugh, Harry. I didn't think Snape would be stupid enough to actually do it… but it didn't matter, in any case. James went mental when I told him, and he went and saved Snape's greasy neck before anything could happen. Dumbledore threatened to expel me, and Remus didn't speak to me through the whole of the next three months. And, of course, Snape had seen Remus – at the end of the tunnel. There wasn't an inner door to the Shack; not then…'

Harry remembered asking Snape about Remus, all those months ago when he'd first figured out that the Defence professor was a werewolf… how Snape had refused to answer Harry's query, when he'd asked how Snape had found out. He remembered too Dumbledore's words two years ago, when he'd come to visit Harry in hospital wing. How he'd told Harry that Snape had protected him throughout the year because he owed his father a debt: that James Potter had saved Snape's life.

Now he knew how.

'You shouldn't have done it,' Harry said stubbornly.

'No,' Sirius agreed. 'Probably not. But we were fifteen, Harry. Thinking though consequences was not a particular talent – not for any of us. Snape included. He gave as well as he took. That was neither the first nor the last time one of us crossed a serious line.'

Harry was about to reply, but a muffled crash resounded through the tunnel. A few rocks were shaken loose from the ceiling, tumbling down on their heads.

' _Remus_ ,' Sirius said. 'Fuck! Harry – GO!'

Hermione screamed his name from up ahead, and Harry could hear Ron shouting for him too. Sirius let Snape fall to the ground as he spun on his knees, shooting another of his barriers out to block the way they'd come. Harry heard the werewolf begin to wrestle with it mere moments after they'd started their progress again.

But they were close, now. In just minutes, they caught up at last to the others. Hermione was trying to hoist Ron up through the opening, but the Willow's branches were swiping about dangerously. Ron already had two vicious-looking cuts across one cheek.

'I've tried Freezing and Shield Charms already,' she told them frantically as Harry and Sirius joined. 'But they don't seem to –'

'Move,' Sirius growled at them, handing Harry Pettigrew's ropes. He scaled the damp slide in three long bounds and reached an arm up expertly through the gap in the roots, shooting a spell from his wand at the knot. The branches froze, as they had done on their entrance.

'Come on,' he said, balancing precariously at the top of the gap and reaching for Ron.

He yanked the boy through first, shoving him as gently as time would allow to his back in the grass. Hermione went next, then Harry – with Pettigrew in tow. Sirius levitated Snape through last, before climbing out himself.

They all lay on the ground for a moment – exhausted; backs aching from the miles of underground passage. Sirius barely had the strength to keep his wand trained on Pettigrew. Luckily, the man had not dared to try to transform.

'We should go,' Hermione said after a moment. 'This thing doesn't stay still very long…'

Sirius grunted in agreement, flopping over and pushing laboriously to his feet.

Harry had no sooner got his feet under him then he heard a howl rent the night, weirdly echoing out from the tunnel through the entrance. It was close – the wolf had clearly broken the second barrier.

Ron was swearing, dragging himself out from under the willow's shadow. 'He'll rip straight through!' he muttered, looking panicked. He tried to hoist himself up on his unsteady leg again, but faltered almost at once.

'He'll catch us… he'll catch us…' Hermione moaned. She was on her back in the grass, scrambling toward the path on her elbows. Her face was filthy from the passage, and her eyes were terrified. She had her wand drawn and pointed at the entryway, but all of them knew magic would be no help if the werewolf managed to break through the entrance.

'He won't,' Sirius promised. 'Come on – we have to get out of range first… it might not start up again on its own in time.'

He helped Hermione to her feet with the hand not dragging Pettigrew. Harry got Ron off the ground. Snape, he saw, Sirius had already placed onto a stretcher that floated behind them. He ushered them all into the grass beyond the reach of the perilous branches, and shot another spell at the knot that froze the tree.

The Willow's limbs began to swing once more. Harry noticed that several were whipping down toward the entrance to the passage itself. He heard a whinge – like a dog in pain.

Sirius winced.

'But… but you just froze the enchantment from inside the tunnel yourself!' Harry pointed out. 'Won't he just be able to stick a leg out or something and –'

'No,' Sirius interrupted, confidently. 'It isn't the first time we've had to get away in a rush, Harry,' he assured him. 'The spell holds, I promise. And he will be safe there until the moon wanes again.'

The werewolf gave another high yowl from the passage. Harry shivered.

'It's enchanted, specifically for him,' Sirius explained to the trio. 'It was brought here to keep him in… as much as to keep others out. He will not be able to pass through into the grounds, without assistance stopping the branches. Dumbledore enchanted the tree himself.'

'You're sure?' Ron asked anxiously, looking as though trusting the man he'd thought was the most notorious prisoner in Azkaban for most of his life was something he could not quite countenance.

'I am positive,' Sirius said.

For the first time that evening, he was smiling – the true, youthful smile that Harry had only seen a handful of times since he'd met his godfather. It made him look twenty years younger.

'This is it,' he said, holding out his Pettigrew-free hand to grasp Harry by the shoulder. 'This is everything, Harry.'

He yanked on the ropes slightly. Wormtail whimpered again.

Harry grinned back. 'I know,' he agreed.

He could scarcely believe it himself. Nearly a year lived in panic… months of fruitless searching… and now, they were just minutes away from an end to it all. And he would have his godfather back. Truly back. In the open, like they were meant to be. No more secret meetings shut up in the headmaster's study; no more keeping the truth from his friends.

No more lies.

'Come on,' Sirius said. 'We have to get you lot back up to the castle. Speak to Dumbledore, and turn this traitorous bit of slime over to the Ministry.'

Harry nodded grimly. His head was still reeling with the madness of the night. He draped Ron's arm around his shoulder, and Hermione hurried to help on the opposite side.

'Will he be back yet, do you think?' she asked Harry as the little group started their slow way across the pitch-black grounds.

'I dunno…' Harry said slowly.

It was odd, really, now he thought about it. He would have expected Dumbledore to have arrived by now; would have thought he'd come at once, if he discovered Harry and the others were not with their House. Even if his meeting in London _hadn't_ yet drawn to a close… surely Remus or Snape would have sent for him, when they'd discovered that Pettigrew had taken Harry.

But then, how _had_ they discovered that, in the first place?

'Did you two get Remus and Snape?' he asked Ron and Hermione aloud. 'Before you came down there tonight?'

'No,' Hermione denied. She was slightly breathless from the effort of hauling Ron all evening. 'We didn't see anyone else in the grounds.'

Harry frowned. If it hadn't been Ron and Hermione… then it must have been the Map.

Which still did not explain the headmaster's absence.

'We didn't have time to get back up to the castle, mate,' Ron put in – apparently misunderstanding Harry's expression. 'He'd dragged you down – we weren't about to leave you Merlin knows where, all on your own.'

'You should have gone back,' Sirius opined from behind them. 'I could have taken care of it. That passage dumped Harry and the traitor right at my feet.'

Ron grunted. 'Yeah, well, how were we to know that?' he challenged. 'And besides, _we_ didn't know you were innocent, did we? Even if we'd known you were there…'

'I _am_ sorry for that,' Harry apologised again. 'I should have told you both. If I had, maybe none of this would have happened tonight.'

There was a somewhat sticky silence. Hermione cleared her throat.

'Anyway,' she said, 'His – Pettigrew's – last spell sort of dazed me for a bit. I came round in time to see you pulled under the willow. I was able to help Ron up, and we followed as quickly as we could. We probably _should_ have gone back to the castle… but really, Harry, we had no idea –'

'I know,' Harry said hastily. 'And thanks – both of you. Really. It… it means a lot, that you came.'

Hermione gave a somewhat watery smile, before suddenly looking him over with a very intense expression. 'I saw him put that awful spell on you,' she told him in a low voice. 'You're certain you're alright?'

'What spell?' Sirius asked sharply. 'What did he do to you?'

'Nothing,' said Harry quickly, eying Sirius' grip on Pettigrew's ropes with trepidation. 'He cast a bunch of spells on us when he was dragging me off, obviously… but I wasn't injured.'

'Not _injured_?' Ron echoed in disbelief. 'Have you lost your marbles, Harry? It was the _Cruciatus curse_! You're lucky it didn't boil you brai–'

'He did WHAT?!' Sirius bellowed, halting his own stride entirely.

He let Snape's stretcher tumble to the earth, yanking the whimpering and bound form of Peter Pettigrew toward his feet along the ground. He raised his wand arm high, his face twisted in a rage as dangerous as the Potions Master's had been back in the shack.

'Sirius – no!' Harry said, releasing Ron for a moment so he could grasp the wizard's raised arm. He was more careful, this time, not to let his magic act out on its own. 'And stop shouting! Do you want the castle to wake before we're –'

'I'll kill you,' Sirius snarled at the rat, trying and failing to wrench his wand arm free. 'I _will_ kill you, you foul – you murderous little –'

'Sirius!' Harry growled, tugging harder. 'Stop! There's a point to all this, remember? It's almost over… don't ruin it now. I'm fine.'

'Fine?!' Sirius repeated, glaring at Harry now. ' _FINE_?! Impossible. Harry, you don't understand. The Cruciatus Curse… it is an unforgivable spell. It can drive a wizard out of his mind with –'

'I know,' Harry said quickly. 'But it _didn't,_ Sirius. His wasn't even that strong, to be frank. Not nearly as bad as the ones from last summer, anyway.'

Sirius dropped his own wand arm, staring at Harry in shock.

'You've been hit with this spell _before_?' he clarified, looking ill. 'What the hell is going _on_ in this madhouse?'

'Never mind that now,' said Harry. 'It's a long story. And we need to get going, before the shouting –'

But he broke off, both in his speech and his walk.

Through the balm of the summer's eve, he was suddenly frozen.

'No,' Harry whispered desperately, as all around them the grounds began to chill as though June had fallen suddenly into January. 'No – not now. We're almost there!'

But there was no doubt about it. Dementors were coming.

Dementors were _swarming_.

As all of them froze, horrified, more than one hundred tall, hooded figures glided out from every direction – through the mist that surrounded the lake, over the hills that led to the Quidditch pitch, and up the path from the gates. They were encircling the three students, Sirius, Pettigrew and the unconscious Snape, bringing their darkness and chill with them.

Victorious, at last, in their own hunt.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'All I am saying, Olympe,' Karkaroff began huffily, 'Is that I thought we'd agreed on _eight_ short-listed contenders? Now you expect me to –'

'You may do as you see fit,' Madame Maxime returned, supremely indifferent. ' _I_ shall be bringing twelve.'

Karkaroff swelled like a bullfrog. ' _Twelve_?!' he repeated. 'Twelve! Madame, you do realise that Durmstrang has already finished for term. I made my selections before the school dismissed! It is unconscionable to expect that I could –'

'Oh, l'horreur!' she mocked with a gasp. 'Et vous devrez peut-être envoyer quelques lettres pendant les vacances d'été? Eh bien, nous ne pourrions pas avoir cela maintenant, pouvons-nous?'

'See here, woman –'

'You could keep to your original eight,' Albus suggested politely. 'Hogwarts is happy to accommodate as many guests as you wish, of course. But, after all, only one from each school can compete…'

'And have Durmstrang under-represented?' Igor retorted, glaring. 'Dumbledore, I could not –'

'Is this quite productive?' Minerva interrupted loudly.

Albus did not know why she bothered. All in, he thought tonight's disputes had been rather less heated than their usual. But then, Minerva had not been privy to quite as many of these discussions as himself.

As Igor stammered an indignant reply, a young, short, and quite harried looking wizard came bursting through the doors, running at a crouch along the table toward Cornelius' seat. Albus recognised the man as Hubert Jarvis, a recent Hogwarts graduate who had taken a position as a page in Fudge's office. The others paid him no mind – engaged in their heated debate – but Albus watched him intently as he made his surreptitious way toward his boss.

The little wizard bustled anxiously to Cornelius' side and whispered something urgently in his ear. Albus saw the Minister's jaw drop, his face paling considerably. His eyes flicked for just a moment in the headmaster's direction, but he darted the gaze away again before Albus could register his thoughts.

'Zere is something ze matter, Minister?' Olympe inquired politely, breaking from the argument.

Fudge cleared his throat. 'Oh, erm, no, Madame, nothing to, er, trouble you all with. If you would excuse me, for just a moment…'

He had already gained his own feet. He shot another half-glance toward Albus' seat, but hustled away after his frantic aide without further explanation. Albus watched him go with a slight frown.

'Well then,' Ludo put in, scooting his own chair closer to the round table. 'Shall we crack on? I'm sure Cornelius wouldn't mind if we commenced the discussion on staging for the first task – Magical Games is not really his area of expertise, after all…'

Albus allowed Minerva to take the lead as half the group broke into spirited debate on the podium sizing. He himself contributed little to the new argument, eying the door where Cornelius had disappeared.

The Minister reappeared a few minutes later, looking just as pale as when he'd left them.

'Everything alright, Cornelius?' Albus asked politely.

'What – oh, yes, just fine, Albus,' the Minister replied, though he still seemed somewhat frazzled. Albus noted that he did not meet his eyes as he said it, nor as he pulled out his chair to seat himself at the table once more. 'Beg pardon all – bit of a situation in another department. Have you got round to the entertainment for Yule Ball yet?'

Over half an hour passed. Albus' focus, however, was still on the Minister. Fudge continually seemed to be checking his timepiece, a light sweat glistening on his forehead that he dabbed at every few minutes – less and less effectively – with a pocket handkerchief. The entire affair was giving Albus a heightening sense of unease.

They had just started in on their last scheduled topic for the evening – the necessary consultation of the Muggle government over the planned import of foreign dragons – when one of the little violet Ministry notes fluttered to a rest next to Albus' seat. He claimed it curiously, noting that Fudge's eyes had snapped to the message as well. The handwriting was vaguely familiar.

 _Absent yourself to the loo, for a mo. Third door on your right._

'What is it?' Minerva asked, as Albus set the slip of parchment aflame with a flick of his wrist once he'd read the missive.

'Nothing of importance,' he assured her lightly, conscious of both the Minister and Karkaroff's perked ears. 'Merely a reminder that we may as well bring the notices for the underage students back with us, since we are here tonight.'

He waited another few minutes, adding a bit to the discussion and trying not to show his distraction. Then he casually excused himself as the note had suggested, humming softly as he passed through the door.

He dropped the façade as soon as the door clicked behind him and rushed to the indicated room. It was another conference space, though much smaller than the chamber he had left. When he pushed inside, a young woman with close-cropped hair in a vivid shade of pink was waiting for him. A nose ring glinted in her left nostril as she turned from her pacing to face the headmaster across an oblong table.

'Professor Dumbledore, sir,' she said with a nod. 'Sorry for the cryptic.'

'Nymphadora,' he greeted her back in recognition. 'Is something the matter?'

She hesitated, glancing through the slit of a window in the door behind him. Albus observed she was twirling a beaded bracelet round and round in her fingers, apparently out of nerves.

'I'm not certain,' the witch admitted. 'But he said I should get you, if you didn't go on your own…'

Albus furrowed his brow, slightly confused. He knew that Nymphadora Tonks had taken a position in the Auror training programme straight out of Hogwarts… and he suspected that it was she who Alastor Moody had utilised in his errand for the headmaster several months ago. Perhaps Moody was the 'he' she referenced now.

'I am afraid I do not understand,' he told her gently. 'Has Alastor –'

'Oh no, not Mad-Eye,' she interrupted hurriedly, with another anxious glance at the door. 'And, er, I'd appreciate it if you don't spread that about much… the others would go a bit out of joint if they thought he was still helping me – or if they thought I was, er, helping him on the side, if you know what I –'

'Of course,' the headmaster assured her, before this rant could become too side-tracked. 'I shall not say a word, I promise you. But who asked you to deliver a message tonight, Nymphadora?'

She grimaced. 'Odious name,' she muttered. 'It's Tonks actually, headmas–'

'Tonks,' he corrected. He pierced her with his most professorial gaze. 'The message?'

'Oh! Yes,' she said, twisting her beads again. 'It was Kingsley, actually – Shacklebolt – who told me to call you. He's gone off already with Scrimgeour and about twelve of the others. Seemed to think Fudge was acting a bit shifty when he passed on the alarm. Said if you didn't come out right quick, I should tell you….'

'Tell me what?' Albus pressed, just shy of annoyance.

She looked slightly startled. 'He _really_ didn't say?' she asked in astonishment. 'Blimey, but that's not on. He's at the school, after all, and –'

Albus' heart sank. Yet, at the same time, he felt cold fury brewing in his chest…

'What, precisely, was Kingsley's message, Ms Tonks?'

The witch swallowed. 'Sirius Black, headmaster,' she said at last. 'He's been spotted – in the Hogwarts grounds. The Dementors sent word to the Ministry… Fudge has already dispatched an Auror squad to deal with –'

The swell of fury reached its peak. Albus was already moving for the door. He summoned his Patronus in half a second, thinking a desperate message… hoping against hope it would reach Sirius in time. He offered Tonks some hasty thanks over his shoulder as he pulled the door ajar, ignoring the gaping look she was giving the spot where his silver phoenix had appeared and vanished in a flash.

Fudge met him just outside the room the others were sequestered in, a gormless expression on his face.

'Al- Albus,' he stammered nervously. 'Was just coming to find you, in fact. There's – er, there's something I ought to tell –'

'You ought to have told me the moment you were called away, Cornelius,' Albus interrupted in an icy tone.

Fudge coloured, but he grew defensive at once. 'Now, see here, Albus,' he blabbered on. 'This is a Ministry action, after all. You have an interest, of course, given Black's current location… but I mean to say –'

'An interest?' Albus repeated softly. 'I should say so, Cornelius. Hogwarts, after all, is _my_ school… not yours. Her grounds are within _my_ jurisdiction… not yours. The Ministry has no authority to send Dementors _or_ Aurors through her gates, without my explicit permission. Permission I would certainly never grant, when I myself am not in residence at the castle.'

Fudge bristled even further. 'The Ministry has broad authority to enter _any_ dwelling, public or otherwise, where there is a current and immediate threat!' he retorted nastily. 'And I would remind you, Albus, that Hogwarts' relationship with the government is one of such leniency because the _Ministry_ allows it to be so. If you seek to impede our ability to –'

'Impede you?' Albus echoed, raising an eyebrow as he stowed his wand from its second Patronus charm of the evening. 'Hardly, Cornelius. I have no intention of impeding justice. We are, and always have been, on the same side. But I cannot countenance Dementors running amok through my school… and I certainly cannot fathom why you would attempt to keep such vital information from me.'

'I… I was coming to tell you, just now,' Cornelius insisted, deflating a bit. 'I just did not wish to interrupt our negotiations. I was waiting for Scrimgeour to –'

'What is it, Albus?' Minerva demanded, cutting the Minister off as she bustled through the door.

'We must go,' Albus said, turning to face her immediately. 'The Ministry has received intelligence that Sirius Black is within the Hogwarts grounds. Dementors and Aurors are seeking him as we speak.'

She paled, looking as terrified as Albus himself felt. Even through her distress, however, her eyes flashed dangerously at the implications of Fudge's silence.

Albus did not wait to hear the Minister's stammer. He turned at once for the lifts that would take him to the Atrium; Minerva and Cornelius trotting in his wake.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They were everywhere – closing in from all around.

Sirius tried to keep his grip on the ropes binding the traitor… tried to shove Harry and the others behind him.

Except there _was_ no behind him, with the Dementors on every side. There was no safety to be had. Not even in his own mind…

Icy cold was penetrating – piercing straight through his chest… encasing his heart…

' _Sirius_!'

Someone slapped his face, and Sirius was momentarily pulled from the sea of misery. The Dementors were closer still, nearly upon them now. All three of the students huddled together around him and the traitor, looking panicked. Harry – who Sirius assumed had been the one to rouse him – was pale as death.

'Patronuses!' he hissed. 'We have to, come on!'

Sirius pulled his wand, hand shaking. He said the incantation… But nothing happened. He had known it would not. He looked up into Harry's stricken face and swallowed hard.

'Harry… I can't,' he admitted in a rasp. 'I haven't… I've not been able to… not in years…'

Harry turned to his student companions instead, unsteady on his feet. 'Quick! Think of something happy! The charm is _Expecto Patronum_.'

Sirius' mind was spinning. Images; scenes from a lifetime of heartbreak; voices panicking, screaming, dying….

'Nooo…' he moaned, clutching at his head as the world collapsed around him. 'Nooo… please…'

Through the growing fog in his brain, Sirius could hear the children all shouting; trying their hand at the spell…

He knew it would not be enough. Even for Harry, who had done it before. These were not Boggarts, with their paltry imitation of fear. These were not students, cavorting in oversized robes for a laugh…

These were Evil itself.

And there were more than one hundred, growing closer every moment…

His vision was clouding now. Voices were echoing in his skull… images were flicking across his mind…

 _The Rat, disappearing into the sewers amid a street of corpses…_

 _Harry, bleeding on a mattress from wounds Sirius' knife had left…_

 _Lily, red hair splayed across the floor, dead and cold at the base of Harry's cot…_

 _Harry, lying on the Forest floor and staring up at him with eyes full of hatred…_

 _James, eyes vacant and staring as Sirius pushed them closed with trembling fingers…_

 _Harry, reaching out from Hagrid's arms, orphaned and alone…_

 _Marley, laughing that last night… twirling like a ballerina in the bloodshed as she battled… Blasted off her feet. Gone, where Sirius could not call her back…_

 _'They'll be more, Sirius,' she promised softly. 'They'll be years more…'_

 _But there wasn't._

 _Harry… wrestling with Peter in the tunnel…_

Harry…

A silvery light – formless and weak – was dancing before his fading eyes. Harry's, he thought, though he could not recall when it had come.

Harry.

His responsibility, tonight.

His _godson_.

His mind cleared, just a fraction. And he could see once more.

Harry had moved in front of him, swaying as he tried to keep the flimsy shield intact. The Dementors were so close, now, that Sirius could hear their rattling breaths as they sucked their sustenance from the air around them.

One of the hooded figures separated itself from its fellows. The Dementor moved forward, toward the shield.

'No…' Harry gasped out. ' _No!_ He's innocent. You can't take him… _Expecto Patronum… Expecto Patronum…_ '

The Dementor raised a skeletal, slimy hand. For a moment, Sirius thought it was going to brush the silvery haze aside.

And then the rotting hand moved upward, and the creature lowered its black cloak.

Sirius, even after a dozen years at their mercy, had never seen beneath a Dementor's hood before. What emerged horrified and fascinated him in equal measure, even through the tumult of his mind. The skin on the Dementor's skull was grey, scabbed and rotted, much as it was on the creature's hands. There was no discernible nose. Indentations showed where eyes might have been; yet the sockets were scaled over and empty. But there was a mouth. A black, fathomless hole from whence the Dementor's death rattle seemed to be issuing.

Harry's Patronus gave one final, feeble flicker… and then the silver mist vanished entirely.

The Dementor glided forward in its absence. Its foul hands stretched out, feeling for its prey. The tips were millimetres from Harry's chest…

' _NO_!' Sirius gasped.

With a colossal effort, he threw himself forward, shoving Harry hard to the ground beside Ron and Hermione, who had both fallen already. The Dementor paused, sensing the change for a single heartbeat… and then it's ironclad, clammy grip closed around his own neck instead.

His vision was whitening again… the echoes of the past much louder even than the foul creature's putrid breath… Its face lowered slowly toward his, and Sirius knew he was lost…

 _'EXPECTO PATRONUM!'_

Sirius fell with a gasp to his knees in the grass – the death rattle, the strong grip, the voices all vanishing as if Pandora's box had been slammed suddenly shut. His vision cleared at once; warmth rushing back to the night and thawing the worst of the chill in his soul.

And Prongs was there. Huge, and white, and more dazzling in his brightness than Sirius had ever seen him before. His great, antlered head was lowered as he cantered around them, driving the evil creatures back in droves.

One of the two fallen students was moaning, stirring from her collapse…

But Sirius was watching Harry. The boy's face was nearly bloodless; his gait unsteady as he pushed forward, wand outstretched and guiding the Patronus' progress. His spell was his father's, his blazing eyes were his mother's… and yet the furious power than emanated from his very being reminded Sirius only, in that moment, of Albus.

Prongs galloped in wider and wider circles, the blinding light only growing as he charged… until, at long last, the Dementors had fled in earnest – gliding out of sight toward the gates. The stag turned when its job was finished, returning like an obedient pet to its master.

Then Harry swayed ominously on his feet, and the Patronus winked out of sight.

'Harry?' Sirius rasped, still struggling to get his own bearings. His godson half-turned, his wand hand dropping limply to his side. His eyes met Sirius' for just a moment, then started to roll back in his head as his knees gave way…

' _Harry!_ '

The moment seemed to last a lifetime. Sirius could feel the almost painful burn on his palm, where Pettigrew's ropes had been digging into his skin for the past hour as he clutched them in a vicelike grip. He'd managed not to release him: not through the chaos in the tunnel… not through their trek across the grounds… not even through the Hell that had been the Dementors' attack, when he could barely grasp his own senses. But now, Harry was falling, pale as Death and utterly spent… and he was too far away for Sirius to catch. Too far to leap, with the traitor in hand.

The choice, it seemed, had come at last. He could feel it tear straight through his tattered soul.

Sirius let the ropes fall.

He threw himself forward with both arms outstretched as Harry pitched face-first toward the earth. The boy fell into them, completely unconscious.

Even as he caught his godson, Sirius watched his chance at vengeance dissolve out of the corner of his eye. The second his focus left the traitor; the moment his back was turned and his hands had released their prize, Pettigrew transformed.

He growled, clutching Harry to his chest with his right arm and turning to fire off a hex… but he knew already it was far too late. With a flick of his bald tail, the rat scampered through the mess of his former bonds, darting away into the overgrown grass. Sirius felt a gut-wrenching horror as he vanished from view.

Harry had been right. Sirius should have stunned him.

But, in this moment, there were more important things.

'Harry,' Sirius hissed, shaking the limp form roughly. 'Harry – wake up!'

For several minutes, he could not rouse him. He could hear the other two students behind him, coming to on the ground. One part of his mind was conscious that every second he stayed, knelt here on the ground, the possibility of recapturing the traitor grew fainter and fainter… but still, he did not move. An owl hooted overhead.

Then the boy's eyelids began to flutter.

'That's it,' Sirius encouraged. 'Come on now, you're alright…'

His eyes opened, looking about in mild confusion… then Harry popped to his feet so quickly that Sirius nearly exclaimed aloud.

'Ron! Hermione!' he said, stumbling a bit as he made for his friends. 'You okay?'

'Fine,' the girl replied. She was already helping Ron to sit up. 'Harry, how on earth did you manage to –'

But Harry cut across her, whirling wildly about in panic.

'Where is he?' he demanded of Sirius. 'Pettigrew? Where did he –'

'He's gone,' Sirius said heavily. He moved to steady Harry again, still concerned. 'He ran off, just as you collapsed.'

'Wha – NO!' he snarled, pushing away from Sirius in dismay. ' _Gone_?! He can't be – Sirius, you have to –'

'It's too late, Harry,' Sirius said sadly. He stepped closer again, cupping the boy's pale face with a hand. 'Peter will be long gone by now. I've seen this before – he's _done_ this before… Even if I go for him now, he'll already be out of reach. He cannot return to Hogwarts, now his secret is revealed; now that he has tried and failed to escape with you. He will not dare to stay where we may catch him out. And you – _you_ are my concern right now. You and the others all need help I cannot provide. The Dementors will be back…'

'We have to get back up to the school, mate,' Ron put in, leaning heavily on Hermione as the two of them shuffled up.

'He's right, Harry,' the girl agreed. 'You were brilliant – you really were, getting rid of all of them like that. That was very, _very_ advanced magic. But you look dead on your feet. You might not be able to do it again, if they come back. And Bl – Sirius is right,' she added, glancing shiftily over her shoulder. 'They aren't likely to stay at the gates for long… not if they know Sirius is here.'

'How'd they even get in?' Ron muttered darkly. 'After Dumbledore –'

'He's out of the castle, tonight,' Hermione reminded him. 'I expect they know… or perhaps they can sense it.'

'Or they sensed me,' Sirius put in. 'They've been out for me, after all, all these months. And I hadn't been in the grounds in my human form since –'

'We can't just let him go!' Harry interrupted desperately, ignoring his friends as his eyes pinned Sirius'. 'Pettigrew _can't_ just be gone! Without him – they won't believe you! They won't believe _me_! And he killed my –'

'I know, Harry,' Sirius said softly. 'Believe me, I know better than anyone.'

'You should have left me,' Harry cried. He turned his face away in frustration, his hands balled into fists. 'You should have gone after him, instead of saving me.'

'No,' Sirius disagreed. ' _You_ , Harry, are the most important thing. _You_ are the true reason I was able to keep going, all those years locked away – all these months on the run…'

And as he said it, Sirius had never been more sure of anything in his entire life.

'The thought of avenging your parents' deaths was my fixation – but not just because they died, Harry. Because _you_ were still in danger. Because he remained close to _you_. And none of it – nothing at all – matters, if anything should happen to you. I would suffer the Dementors ten times over if it meant you would live, and be happy.'

'What now?' Ron asked, sounding nervous.

'We get you lot back up to the castle,' Sirius answered, clearing his throat a bit and breaking eye contact with Harry. 'Quickly. Before the Dementors return, or alert the Ministry.'

'Dumbledore wouldn't let them take you,' Ron said confidently.

'But Dumbledore's not _here_ , Ron,' Hermione reminded him again. 'And who knows if –'

Before she could finish, there were distant sounds from beyond the far-off gates: a series of loud, sharp cracks… like apparition. A dozen, maybe more. The girl cut herself off, her eyes widening in fright. Sirius knew his own face would match it.

Aurors.

'They – they're here, already?' Hermione whispered, as all their focuses snapped toward the out-of-sight gate. 'It hasn't even been –'

'They'll give you to them!' Harry said, desperate. 'If Albus doesn't get here in time… if they beat him… The Dementor's Kiss – it was in the _Prophet_ months ago. You won't have another chance!'

Sirius felt his blood run cold. Time was up. The run was over.

It would be a new race, now… Would Albus manage to beat the Ministry wizards to their place in the grounds? Or would Fudge or his cohorts arrive first?

He could try and run for it… try to breach the castle and convince Flitwick; or skirt him, somehow, and await Albus…

But he would be blocked at the threshold. If he even made it that far. They would not let him pass. He had no chance of reaching the castle doors before those inside answered the call. He had no hope of sneaking the other way, either; past the gates and into Hogsmeade. Not now… not through two-thirds of the Azkaban guard and Merlin knew how many Ministry reinforcements…

And he could not leave the children in the grass on their own. He could not leave Harry, not knowing…

Perhaps Albus would make it. Perhaps he would win.

As if in answer to his thoughts, a blaze of silvery light barrelled toward them out of the sky. The thing soared once around the grouping, before alighting directly in front of Sirius. It spoke in Albus' deep voice.

 _'They are coming, Sirius. We will not reach you in time… You must run.'_

Harry and Sirius watched it vanish together, identical looks of panic on both their faces. Sirius tried to calm his heart; to resign himself to the end. It was alright. If he could delay the Kiss, at least, Albus might make it back before all was lost…

'Go!' Harry insisted, pushing at his chest desperately. 'Go – Sirius! You have to, they'll –'

'The Ministry will believe you,' Ron insisted, though he looked pale and terrified. 'If we tell them we saw Pettigrew; if Dumbledore backs us up –'

'I do not think it will matter,' Sirius said with a sad smile. 'Perhaps Albus' testimony – and yours – will be enough to get me free, once they lock me up again. Perhaps not. But Fudge will take me as soon as they get here. I doubt he will wait even for Albus. Not without Pettigrew; another body to take my place. They will follow procedure. They'll be a Ministry inquiry. And I will let them take me, Harry, rather than run for it now. I cannot leave you alone –'

'But you _are_!' Harry hissed, in a whisper that was, somehow, almost a scream. 'You are – if you let them take you away. I _know_ the headmaster will have a way out. He always does. Maybe… we'll wait for him – we can go up to his office, now. He'll help you esca-'

A clatter at the iron; voices – human voices – still far away, perhaps on the path to the village… but loud enough in the windless night that they carried through the darkened park…

'There's no time,' Sirius said gently. Already, he heard the bang of iron on stone as someone blasted open the gate. 'And nowhere to go, now. Harry –'

He pulled the child toward him – to embrace him… but Harry stepped away. A gleam of determination was sparking in his eyes, not unlike the one James so often had.

'Come on,' the child said, darting a terrified look between the hill that hid the gates and the distant castle. He tugged at Sirius' hand, already moving toward the dark, looming trees.

'Harry!' Hermione hissed, half-dragging Ron after them.

'No!' Harry gasped out, putting up a hand to stop her. 'You get Ron and Snape back up to the castle. Stall them – the Ministry – if you can… make up some story.'

A second, unfamiliar silver Patronus streaked past, and Sirius knew it was headed for the castle. To alert Flitwick, possibly.

'Harry, don't –' Sirius began to protest.

'But mate –' Ron started.

'We're not leaving you!' Hermione insisted.

' _You'll be okay_ ,' Harry said firmly to his friends, still pulling at Sirius. 'You can't come – you can't keep up. And this… This is the only chance.'

The pressure on his hand increased and, with a strength that shocked from a child so young and so recently injured, Sirius was dragged along at his heels. Neither of the other children looked at all happy as they watched them disappear into the darkness.

'They'll search the forest, Harry,' Sirius tried to warn as the boy pulled him down the embankment. 'The dog disguise won't work now; the Ministry will have sent Aurors, knowing I am here and Albus is gone. I will never make it through the wards in time. They'll find –'

'We aren't going for the forest,' Harry ground out.

He ran harder – faster. The recent brush with Dementors and magical exhaustion had left him spent and panting, and Sirius opened his mouth to _force_ him to stop; but Harry suddenly halted at the edge of the trees, not far from Hagrid's darkened cabin.

'You're a mess,' Sirius said in concern, reaching for his face again…. His cheeks were flushed; green eyes slightly glazed…

But Harry had shoved a hand in the pocket of his robes, fumbling for something.

'I _knew_ I had it in here!' he said in delight. 'Lucky it was so warm today; I hadn't worn these robes since last summer.'

From the pocket, he pulled what looked like a small, crudely-hewn wooden flute. Sirius stared.

'What is it?' he asked in hoarse whisper.

'A whistle,' Harry replied shortly. He put the instrument to his lips and blew one, hard note.

An unearthly cry pierced the night, echoing through the grounds and forest alike. In the distance, Sirius could see figures running up the grassy hill, growing closer and closer to the students and Snape by the lake. Ron Weasley was waving his arms in the air to get their attention; Hermione's arm holding him upright around the waist while the other held her wand.

And Snape's black form was moving too… stirring on his stretcher in the grass…

 _Whoosh_

Sirius jumped back in fright.

Something huge and dark had streaked suddenly down out of the sky, landing with unnatural lightness between himself and Harry.

Harry shivered slightly, as the creature moved to lick at a spot of someone's blood that had stuck to his cheek. And Sirius saw that the animal had skeletal, horse-like features and leathery, bat-shaped wings.

A thestral.

'You can see him?' Harry confirmed, holding very still as the creature licked his face. He patted in the air with a tentative hand, feeling for the thestral's mane.

'You can't?' Sirius asked, confused.

Harry shook his head. 'You have to have seen death, and understood it,' he clarified. 'My mum… I was too small at the time. At least, that's what Hagrid says.'

Sirius opened his mouth to say he hoped they'd _always_ be invisible, for Harry… but shouting from the hillside intercepted the remark. He looked quickly back.

The Ministry wizards were running – they could see the crumpled figures now… were making beeline for them, wands out… And Snape was on his feet… And behind them, from the direction of the gates, floods of black-clad demons were gliding softly into the grounds once again…

Harry heard it too.

'Go,' he said, pushing the thestral's head toward Sirius. 'He's trained – he'll know where to take you if you tell him a place. And he's fast, and quiet, and hard to trace. They won't know –'

'Peter –'

'You said yourself he'll have scarpered straight away,' Harry pointed out. 'He won't be lurking here, on the off-chance I've gone for a bit of a stroll…'

'You're hurt, Harry,' Sirius protested. 'And the Dementors –'

'I'll be fine,' Harry said confidently. 'There are wizards here now too… they're not looking to hurt me. And Snape's awake.'

'Harry…' Sirius hesitated. But Harry shook his head, shooting another terrified look over his shoulder.

'Go,' he repeated. 'I'll talk to Albus… I'll tell him everything. We'll find you again; but you have to go – please! I can't lose you too – not when… not when I've just found you.'

Sirius pulled himself onto the back of the beast. It did not protest its burden, but scuffed its hoofs against the soft ground, as if ready for flight again.

'We _will_ see each other soon, Harry,' he said. He reached down from the thestral to brush the boy's cheek with his hand again. 'I promise.'

'Go!' Harry repeated fearfully. He looked devastated, but he pulled himself out of reach.

Sirius adjusted himself on the thestral.

'You are truly your parents' son, Harry,' he told him with a smile. 'And I can give you no higher praise.'

'I'm your godson,' Harry said quietly, with a small smile of his own. 'Please… stay safe.'

'And you,' Sirius replied with a wink.

In a silent rush of wings, the thestral soared high into the air. And Sirius Black sped away from Hogwarts.

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 41**

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for reviewing! Ah… well, you'll get part of your answer this chapter, and the rest before the end of the book, I expect… but the 'happy family' ending is definitely not where this instalment is headed (or how would I write the next six books?). Believe me, I would love to send all our characters happily into the sunset together, but I decided quite early that I was not going to go there with Sirius this book, no matter how much it pained me. Some events, even in alternate universe, are destined to occur… and Pettigrew has too much a role left to play to allow his story to conclude at this juncture. Hopefully, this will all make sense at the start of Part III. And, for me, the evolution of Sirius' character that I had hoped to bring about in this story manifests in Chapter 42. I won't explain it now, in case you are reading this before reading the chapter above… but this marks a serious development for his character, and one I think will change how he acts moving forward. I hope readers will enjoy that story arc.

I hope you like Chapter 42!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for reviewing! Yes, werewolf drama… I hope you enjoy where it takes us next.

 **AlsoKnownAsMatt** : Thanks for your review! You make some interesting points. In particular – I'm glad you raised the question of stunning Pettigrew, because I think it is incredibly true. I actually planned to address it last chapter, but I moved that portion of thought here instead. There _is_ an explanation for it – though, admittedly, it is still a poor decision on all their parts. Harry's morality, of course, is a central tenant in JKR's version and probably will be for much of my series, though I agree it comes with a serious price. One of the other things about his personality – the secrecy and cards-close-to-the-chest quality he seems to be learning from the headmaster – has similar pitfalls. Though Albus and Harry's reasoning was undoubtedly sound, in their view, keeping Pettigrew's existence secret from Ron and Hermione arguably leads, in my story, to this series of unfortunate events in the first place. It's interesting to watch the chips fall into place… at least, it is as a writer.

Hope you enjoy the continuation!

 **Mwinter1** : Thanks for reviewing! Glad you are enjoying it and hope you like the continuation.

 **Me (Guest Reviewer)** : Thank you for reviewing both Chapter 40 and Chapter 41! I think you're right… at least in the disciplinary sense, it's unlikely Harry will be chastised for leaving Hagrid's – because they _did_ need to get back to the school, somehow. Hagrid… well, you'll see what happens with that one. Yay! Glad you picked up on the noted difference between the _Crucio_ of last summer and the casting by Pettigrew here… it was, as you seem to have surmised, absolutely meant to indicate that it was _not_ Peter who kidnapped Harry in Edinburgh. That mystery remains unsolved.

Oh man… Pettigrew. Sirius. Ah, I know everyone is going to be upset with me… but I promise, there is a longer story to be told with this – and unfortunately this just wasn't quite the right moment to end Wormtail's existence. His story, however, _and_ Sirius', will not be the same as canon throughout… I have an arc in mind for this. They _are_ in the shack still, at this point. So there are still obstacles to come.

Hope you enjoy the next instalment!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thanks for reviewing! Ah – love Sirius… and I promise we'll get loads more from him in the next book as well, though I cannot promise his fate in this one. Snape is _definitely_ going to be livid when he wakes; I'm sure Harry is accurate in predicting his displeasure here. I too love the scene in the film where Snape puts himself between the kids ad the wolf. I _almost_ woke him up just for that, but I went another route with Remus in the end so it didn't quite fit. I hope you enjoy the next chapter!


	43. The Marauder Legacy

**A/N:** Well, we've made it. Nearly a year later, and after more than **380,000** words, Part II is at last complete. I truly loved writing this story, and I hope you have all enjoyed reading it. As I did at the end of Part I, I have posted the first chapter (the prologue, really) to the next book. So, when you've finished with Part II, I encourage all of you to head to my profile page and check out Chapter One of Child of Hogwarts, Part III: The Master of Death.

Enjoy 'The Marauder Legacy'!

 **This is the final chapter… so** **please** **read and review!**

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **Chapter 43: The Marauder Legacy**

Severus came to very slowly. There were voices, both distant and close… a lingering chill in the summer's air. His head felt as though he'd spent the night in the pubs, and he could taste the lingering copper of blood in his mouth. It was a monumental effort to open his eyes.

When he did, the first thing he discerned was green. He was lying on soft, slightly damp earth, covered in the lush grass of early summer. The blades obscured his vision, and he went to raise his pounding head…

Then there was a child's squeal and a thump, and suddenly bushy brown hair had replaced the sea of green.

'Professor Snape,' the girl hissed, a small hand on his shoulder. 'Oh, thank goodness. Quick – get up, get up, sir! They're coming…'

Severus leaned back, away from her anxious face. His thoughts were confused and broken.

The grounds… he was in the grounds, somehow. He could see Weasley too, white-faced and waving his arms at something or someone in the distance, balanced on one leg. Granger reached out a hand again as if to help him to his feet… But how had he –

The Shack. Potter. The _Rat_.

It all came back in a flood of rage, panic and pain. He looked wildly around, thrusting a hand into his pocket.

Like a sick imitation of that night more than a year ago, when he had found himself waking on the floor of that foul passage to the Chamber, his hand found only fabric. He snarled.

'It's here,' the girl said quickly, holding the weapon out for him. 'I kept it for you. Come on, sir, we have to distract them. I don't know whether Harry…'

Potter.

This was _his_ fault. _Again_.

He snatched his wand back from Granger, refusing her aid as he regained his feet. There were figures approaching – wizards, he thought, and Dementors. Some of the wizards had conjured Patronuses, which he supposed was the reason the chill felt muted… he was grateful, for he did not think he could summon his own at the moment. Thanks to Potter and his rash, uncontrollable temper.

But Potter… Potter was not here. Nor was the rat, or the wolf, or the mutt…

'Where are they?' he hissed to Granger, stumbling toward her where she'd joined the red-haired boy. 'Pettigrew, Potter…'

'Pettigrew ran off,' she whispered back.

'He _what_?' Severus snarled. 'The traitor _escaped_?'

'Yes – after Lupin transformed, when we'd escaped back into the grounds…. The Dementors came, Harry drove them back, but –'

The potion. _Shite_. He'd _known_ the foolish wolf should have taken it straight away! They all might have been… but Potter –

'Where is _Potter_?' he demanded.

'Severus!'

A new, much higher voice called out from behind him. Severus whirled to see Filius Flitwick running down the path from the school, his robes hiked up to keep from tripping and his flyaway hair bouncing about on each step.

'He's… he took Sirius away,' Granger answered quickly. 'He told us to distract them – the headmaster isn't back yet…'

'Away?' Severus repeated. 'With Dementors in the grounds? Where, exactly, did he –'

'Ms Granger, Mr Weasley!' the Charms Master gasped out, reaching them at last just ahead of the Ministry contingent. 'In Merlin's name, what has –'

But the Aurors had arrived now. One of them – Scrimgeour, Severus thought it was – pulled Filius aside with a rough hand, muttering urgently at his ear. A group of five or six made a beeline for the castle, while a woman Severus did not recognise grabbed him by the upper arm.

'Sir?' the woman asked, shaking him slightly. 'Sir, Sirius Black has been reported here tonight. Have you any –'

'I have no idea where your criminal has got to,' Severus answered smoothly, detaching his arm from her grip. 'I have only just awoken myself.'

Her brow furrowed as she scrutinised him. 'That's a nasty cut you've got there,' she opined. 'You one of the staff?'

'Yes,' he said curtly. 'And my students…' he looked around again, to where two other Aurors were converging on Weasley and Granger. He hurried to intercede, pulling them out of the Ministry's grip.

'Oi –' Weasley protested hotly.

'Listen to me, very carefully,' he hissed at the boy's ear. Granger, he knew, would not need instruction to pay attention. 'Say nothing. Tell them nothing. You were knocked out – you have no idea what happened tonight. The last thing you remember is walking with Potter in the grounds before the Dementors arrived. Do you understand?'

'We need statements from the three of you,' the woman who had intercepted him said, a touch more irritation in her voice. 'And any information you can give us on –'

Severus released the children, with one last meaningful glare. 'We have nothing to offer,' he said over her. 'And these students need to be seen by our mediwitch. The headmaster –'

'We have an immediate situation,' Scrimgeour protested, breaking off his conversation with Filius to glare at Severus. His eyes were calculating, and deeply mistrustful. 'Nobody leaves this hillside while the search is going on.'

Severus snarled. 'The _children_ need tending,' he spat at the Auror. 'Dumbledore would not allow –'

'Albus Dumbledore is not here,' the man reminded him. He took a step closer, his gaze intensifying. 'And I would remind you, _Severus Snape_ , that impeding a Ministry investigation for an escaped Death Eater does not look –'

'I impede _nothing_ ,' Severus growled. 'I hate the murderous traitor as much as you, Scrimgeour. I came out here tonight in an effort to stop this madness. And Albus Dumbledore…'

He paused, smirking just a fraction as a dazzling silver figure whooshed through the air around them. Its appearance caused several of the Ministry wizards to exclaim in alarm.

'Has returned.'

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Albus and Minerva apparated in sync, just in front of the wrought iron gates. A second, louder pop announced that the Minister had joined them, but Albus did not turn from his purpose. The gates were open at an odd angle; the ancient hinges broken in places, leaving the portal to his school ajar. Fury pulsed in the headmaster's chest.

No chill permeated the summer's night. No Dementors remained at their post. And yet, from the distant grounds, Albus could hear a cacophony of angry voices.

He passed through the entrance with his wand drawn, moving at once for the out-of-sight men. He recognised both Filius' high squeak and Severus' deep snarl among them. As they crested the hilltop and the figures came into view, Albus thought he saw a dark shadow zoom fleetingly over the forest in the distance.

He summoned his Patronus, shooting the blinding silver phoenix directly at the mob in the grass. It did not join those of the Aurors, circling protectively around their masters. Instead, it drove with the force of Albus' rage through the horde of Azkaban guards, sending the creatures away from his castle and students, back toward the gates. Fudge gave an undignified squeak as he hurried away from their retreat, not bothering to summon his own protection.

The faces of the dozen wizards all turned as he took the remaining distance at a powerful stride, his anger and his magic piercing the night like thunder.

'Albus,' Severus said, turning away from what appeared to be a heated discussion with Rufus Scrimgeour as the headmaster joined them. He was bleeding, and paler than usual. But as the Potions Master turned, Albus caught sight of two much smaller figures at Filius' side.

Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. Which meant…

'Where is he?' Albus demanded, sweeping his gaze between Severus, the children and the Ministry entourage.

'No sign of him yet, sir,' Rufus said gruffly. 'But we've only just arrived ourselves. Shacklebolt led a contingent into the castle, but your man here won't let the guards in to assist with –'

'No Dementor shall be permitted to cross the threshold of this school,' Albus insisted firmly. 'As undoubtedly Filius relayed.'

But Sirius was not the 'he' Albus had been asking for… and as he met Severus' eyes, he knew the latter understood.

'I do not know,' he answered curtly. 'I was attempting to ascertain as much, when the Ministry arrived. He was gone when I awoke. Both he and –'

'He… he went down the hill, sir,' Hermione piped up, stepping out from behind Filius. She was whispering the words, her face terrified. 'Harry… he went toward Hagrid's, but that was several minutes –'

'Black took the boy?' Dawlish demanded at Scrimgeour's side. 'Why did you not say sooner, foolish –'

'He didn't _take_ him anywhere!' Ron Weasley protested. He was limping, Albus noticed, as he came to stand at Hermione's side. 'You lot have got it all wrong! Harry –'

'Enough, Mr Weasley,' Severus cut in, exchanging a grim look with Albus. 'Hold your tongue.'

'But I –'

Ron stopped, as Albus caught his gaze and shook his head once, just slightly. The boy swallowed hard, but he did not attempt to reason with the Ministry again. Already, Scrimgeour was leading several of his men and women down toward the Gamekeeper's hut.

'Take the children back up to the school,' Albus instructed Minerva, following the Aurors at a run. 'We shall meet you in the hospital wing.'

Severus, predictably, pursued him at once. The Ministry wizards were some distance in front.

'Where have you been?' the Potions Master accused as they tore through the darkened grounds. 'How the hell did the Ministry manage to –'

'An excellent query,' Albus said, giving his professor a sideways glance. 'As it has become clear, Severus, that Cornelius was not the only one keeping information from me tonight.'

There was a beat of silence. Candles flickered to life in Hagrid's windows as they drew closer to the hut. Albus increased his own stride. If the Aurors found Sirius first…

'The rat took the boy,' Severus said at last. 'Pulled him into the Willow. There was a fight in the Shack… Black and Lupin had him, the last I knew. But I was knocked out… by _Potter's_ foolish magic. When I awakened, Pettigrew, Black and Potter had all disappeared.'

Albus did not reply. There would be a moment to hear the details… but it was not now. Not before they had located Sirius and Harry.

'He's here!' one of the Aurors called, shouting from the edge of the trees. 'The boy!' Albus' heart contracted. He sped up yet again.

'He's breathing,' another voice called out. 'But he doesn't look good… Black must have –'

'Stand aside,' Albus commanded, shoving his way through the grouping as he reached them at last.

He crouched down at Harry's side. The boy looked smaller, younger; as he always did when Albus seemed to come upon him in moments like this. He was overly warm and very pale, but his breathing was steady and his pulse strong. As Albus touched his wrist, he caught sight of a familiar, carved wooden instrument protruding from his slackened fist. He slipped it covertly into his own sleeve.

'Harry,' he called softly, shaking his shoulders. The boy did not respond, but Albus had not expected him to. He could feel magical exhaustion in him, whatever else might have occurred this night.

'Where's Black?' Scrimgeour demanded, hawk-like eyes scanning the murky trees. 'Dawlish, Spencer, search the forest. Fulton – see to the lake. The rest of you, with me in the grounds. Assume you can deal with the boy, Dumbledore?'

'Yes,' Albus agreed at once. He let the others go, staying bent over Harry until their footsteps were out of earshot. He ran a careful diagnostic, just to be sure.

'Albus,' Severus muttered, bending low at his ear as the spell did its work. ' _I_ do not care if they should destroy the insolent mutt, but surely you must –'

'They will not find him,' the headmaster said. He handed the whistle to Severus.

'What is it?' the Potions Master demanded.

'A thestral whistle,' Albus explained. 'Harry used it, to call one of the herd tonight. He sent his godfather to safety. He put his own life at risk, to save the life of one he loved.' He brushed an ancient hand through Harry's fringe, revealing that famous scar.

Severus made a noise of disbelief. 'How can you be sure?' he needled. 'Black might have run for it. Potter might have passed out before –'

'I saw it, in the sky above the forest as we arrived,' the headmaster said distractedly, catching the little slip of parchment. 'I can contact Sirius after we –'

He broke off, fury reigniting as he glanced down at the results.

'What is it?' Severus asked, bending toward him again. He made a noise of disgust at the third listed item. 'I would not have thought Pettigrew capable,' he snarled.

'Do you still have the antidote among your stores?' Albus demanded, giving him a sharp look.

Severus nodded once. 'I replenished, after the incident last summer,' he informed him. 'I shall have it sent for Poppy.'

'Thank you,' Albus said. 'Then we ought to make haste.'

He bent to pick Harry up off the ground, back straining slightly. However much smaller Harry might look in unconsciousness, he was hardly a child any longer.

It would not be long before Albus could not carry him at all.

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'It was lucky you were there, Snape… else Black might have finished them all.'

'Indeed, Minister. I only wish I had not been knocked unconscious… if I had been able to apprehend him…'

'Ah, well, who could have expected you to? When he's outrun the Azkaban guard as long as he has…'

Harry came to sluggishly, the odd conversation penetrating like slow-acting venom in his brain. He felt much as he had after falling fifty feet from his broomstick: slow, groggy, aching, and very, very tired… The speakers' words seemed to ebb and flow as he heard them, fuzzy and slightly out of reach.

'And you still have no lead on his current whereabouts, Minister?'

'No… no, none at all. Dumbledore thinks he'll have fled the country, or at least this general area. But we'll continue searching, of course.'

'I wish you luck. You cannot find the murderous traitor soon enough…'

Harry's eyes snapped open, his mind finally catching up to his senses. He shot up in the bed as a furious rage took hold.

'How _dare you_!' he shouted, though his voice was slightly muffled by his recent sleep. He fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table, slapping them back over his ears.

Both Fudge and Snape turned. The Minister looked shocked, and rather concerned. Snape, on the other hand, was perfectly impassive.

'Harry!' Fudge exclaimed, moving at once to Harry's bedside and scrutinising him with an anxious, almost familial look.

The gesture unnerved Harry – he had never spoken to the Minister before… let alone had any sort of relationship with him. Indeed, he had only been in the same _room_ with Cornelius Fudge on two occasions, and the Minister wasn't to know of either. On the first, he had been hidden under his invisibility cloak with Ron in Hagrid's hut. The second, he'd been stashed under a table at the Three Broomsticks.

'Er – hello,' Harry said, scooting back a little against the iron frame.

Fudge smiled at him, as though he were a favoured nephew. He reached out a pudgy hand to feel Harry's brow. Harry did his best not to flinch.

'You're still feverish,' Fudge told him with a worried frown. 'You've had a difficult night… you ought to be resting.'

'I don't _need_ to rest,' Harry insisted stubbornly. He shrugged out from under Fudge's hand to glare at Snape again. 'What are you telling him, _sir_?' he demanded harshly. 'You saw what happened tonight… you _know_ the truth! Sirius is _innocent_! It was Pettigrew who –'

'Hold your tongue, Potter!' the Potions Master snapped at him, his dark eyes flashing. Harry saw that he still had an unhealed cut creeping past the edge of his hairline, relic of Harry's own rash magic in the Shrieking Shack.

Suddenly, he did not feel all that guilty anymore.

He narrowed his eyes. 'I don't know what you're playing at,' he snapped. 'But if this is all some scheme to get back at him for the rubbish prank he pulled while you were at school… you're more cowardly than I thought!'

Snape rushed the bed, his face as twisted and dangerous as it had been hours ago in the Shrieking Shack. 'You impertinent little –'

'Severus, really!' Fudge said in alarm. He caught the professor's arm as he came into range, halting his assault. 'The boy obviously doesn't know what he's saying… he's feverish, he's confused, and –'

'I'm _not_ –' Harry protested hotly. But Snape, still glaring, drowned him out.

'Yes, of course,' he said stiffly. He wrenched his arm free from the Minister's grasp, smoothing his expression again. 'As I was telling you, Minister… Black's done quite a good job on them. Confunded when I arrived in the grounds.'

'We were _not_ Confunded!' Harry shrieked. 'Ask Ron, or Hermione, or Remus…'

'Professor _Lupin_ ,' Snape corrected over him again, 'Has been ill since early evening, Potter. He has not left his chambers.'

'But I –'

'You are _confused_ , Potter,' Snape said, his dark eyes boring into Harry's. 'You must have been… unless you wish to be _expelled_ for attacking a teacher…'

Harry's face flushed, in both anger and embarrassment. 'I am _not_ confu-'

'What's this?' a new voice demanded.

Madam Pomfrey came bustling around the curtains. Through the momentary gap before she yanked them shut again, Harry saw Ron was asleep in a neighbouring bed. He must have been dosed with something powerful, for he had not stirred despite Harry's rant.

The matron looked ready to curse the lot of them. She put her hands on her hips as she turned an irate gaze on Snape.

'Severus, Minister, I'm afraid I must ask you to go,' she said huffily. 'Potter is my patient, and he cannot be distressed.'

' _I'm not distressed_ ,' Harry snarled.

She raised an eyebrow pointedly.

'Out, out!' she shooed, flapping her hands at the professor and Fudge. 'Potter – do not move a muscle until I return. Severus, I shall see to that cut in the back room…'

'No need, Poppy,' Snape replied silkily, as Madam Pomfrey whipped the curtains round the front of Harry's bed as well, shutting out his view of the rest of the ward. 'I can tend to it myself…'

Harry pushed his bedsheets away, scrabbling the table for his wand while the matron argued with Snape. He set his bare feet upon the tile floor…

But it was like she had a sixth sense for miscreant patients.

' _Not_ a muscle,' Madam Pomfrey chastised, flying back through the curtains as though Harry had set off an alarm with his big toe. ' _Why_ must you always be so difficult?'

She pushed him forcibly back into the bed, tutting as she felt his forehead and pulled his wand out of his hand – completely ignoring his protests.

'I want to see the headmaster,' Harry insisted. 'Where's Dumbledore?'

The matron stuck a mug of steaming chocolate into his hand with an admonitory glare. 'Drink it all,' she commanded. 'Or I swear I shan't let you out until the Hogwarts Express departs in a fortnight.'

Harry took a large gulp, but only because he knew it would make her more forthcoming. 'Where's the headmaster, ma'am?' he asked with a touch more politeness.

She eyed him beadily, and Harry pressed the cup to his lips again. The drink, he noted a touch too late, was making him slightly fuzzy.

Madam Pomfrey gave a satisfied smirk. 'Calming Draught is a wondrous thing,' she opined to herself. 'And the headmaster will be back shortly, Potter. He has just gone to return Ms Granger to Gryffindor Tower.'

Harry frowned. 'How come _she_ didn't have to stay?' he demanded. 'If you made Ron and me?'

The matron glared. 'Because Ms Granger did not present with fever, broken bones, or magical exhaustion,' she told him huffily. 'I might add that she also managed to walk herself into my ward tonight. _You_ , on the other hand…'

'I haven't broken anything!' Harry pointed out irritably. He hesitated, realising he actually had no idea _what_ had happened, since Sirius had flown away. 'Er… have I?'

She refilled the mug of chocolate with a wave of her wand, giving him a beady eye. 'Not _yet_ ,' she warned him. 'But put another finger outside this bed before I clear you to do so, and I make no promises, Potter.'

He glared over the rim of the cup. 'How's Ron?' he asked instead.

Madam Pomfrey frowned. 'Broken leg,' she told him grimly. 'But he'll be fine. As for you…'

'Magical exhaustion,' Harry finished for her. 'I know.'

He recognised the sensation by now, though he did not think this was anywhere near as bad as he'd been in first form.

'Yes,' she agreed primly. 'Coupled with the effects of nearly one hundred Dementors, if Ms Granger's account holds true, which explains the fever. And there were… other spells, Potter.'

Madam Pomfrey seemed disinclined to elaborate, and Harry gave her a curious look. Her eyes, so often stern, looked almost tearful. She patted him awkwardly on the shoulder before turning with a huff, muttering to herself. She bustled through the front curtains and returned with two phials of brightly coloured potion. The first she handed over Harry recognised at once as Fever Reducer… but he recognised the second too. And he realised she thought he did not.

'This one…' she began, but Harry shook his head.

'I know what it is,' he said, a bit hoarsely. He took it from her.

She cleared her throat. 'The effects should dissipate by morning,' she told him, returning to her usual briskness. 'I shall want to keep you until the fever resolves, of course, but you should be feeling much better in a few hours.'

Harry scowled as he threw back the phial. 'I feel fine _now_ ,' he insisted. 'But I need to talk to the headmaster.'

Madam Pomfrey did not seem to be listening, busily straightening his bedside table as she muttered to herself.

'… and you lot were quite lucky Severus and the Ministry…'

'We were _not_ lucky,' Harry said, though he couldn't seem to bring himself to shout over the Calming Draught. 'And it wasn't Sirius who did cursed me… The Ministry doesn't know what's going on. They've got it all –'

'You are confused, Potter,' the matron said soothingly, pulling up his bedclothes. 'It's natural, until the spell wears –'

'I've told you, I _wasn't_ Confunded,' Harry disagreed. 'If you would, if _anyone_ would, just lis–'

'I see you are awake,' a voice interrupted.

Harry whipped his head to face the curtains again, as Dumbledore strode through. His heart immediately lightened as he caught sight of the headmaster's smile and the familiar twinkle in his eyes.

Albus would fix this. He always did.

'Hi,' he said in relief.

'Headmaster,' the matron greeted, turning as well.

'Poppy,' Albus acknowledged with a nod. 'I wonder if you might give us a few minutes?'

She nodded curtly, but fixed Harry with a stern look again. 'Just a _few_ , headmaster,' she said, though she spoke the words more to Harry. 'Potter needs rest. I shall go and see if I might track down Severus while you speak.'

'An excellent idea,' Dumbledore agreed, his blue eyes dancing with suppressed mirth. 'I do believe he was assisting Minerva in seeing Cornelius and the remaining officials out…'

She left them, muttering darkly as she made for the end of the ward. Dumbledore waited until the door had clicked shut behind her, then swirled his wand through the air. Though the headmaster had not spoken an incantation, Harry was sure it was some sort of privacy enchantment he had enacted.

But he did not much care, as the mention of the Potions Master had stirred his anger once more.

'Snape is a lying git,' he said harshly, when Dumbledore had turned for his bed again.

'Harry –'

'No, he _is_ ,' Harry insisted. 'He was in here before you were – with the Minister. He told him that Sirius is a murderous traitor!'

'Harry –'

'He wouldn't let me talk about Pettigrew… he made out like _I_ was the liar. Said I'd been _Confunded_ by –'

'Harry, _enough_ ,' Albus said, his voice slightly raised.

Harry stopped speaking, but he did not stop glaring. Dumbledore gave a deep sigh. 'We will reach Severus in a moment,' he promised. 'But first, I wish you to tell me what happened tonight.'

So Harry did, starting with the moment that Pettigrew had reappeared, dragging him into the willow from trip back from Hagrid's. Dumbledore listened without interruption as he told him of the events in the shack, Remus' transformation and their escape from the passage… but Harry faltered as he recounted the swarm of Dementors.

'You must have produced quite some Patronus,' the headmaster prompted with a smile. 'To drive back so many Dementors.'

Harry gave half a smile in reply, though it could not douse his melancholy. 'I suppose,' he said, shrugging. 'But I had to. Ron and Hermione couldn't do it; they'd never learned the spell. And… and Sirius…'

He trailed off, remembering the look on his godfather's face. Albus squeezed his arm.

'Sirius could not manage the charm,' he guessed, watching Harry intently.

Harry shook his head. 'No,' he admitted quietly. 'He said he couldn't do it, any more.'

Albus nodded. His expression was sad. 'It may come back to him, in time,' he said gently. 'Patronuses are very light magic, as you know, fuelled by goodness. As such, they are hardest to call forth when we are steeped in an overwhelming sea of the emotions and memories that Dementors evoke. A terrible dichotomy, for it is then that we need their protection the most. Sirius spent many years in the Dementors' company, Harry. He needs time, for his soul to heal.'

Harry brushed a tear from his cheek.

'You performed an incredible feat, in producing your own Patronus tonight,' Albus told him, lifting his chin with a long finger. 'Your actions saved the lives of your friends, Sirius and Severus. Your father and mother would be very proud. _I_ am very proud of you.'

Harry opened his mouth to say 'thank you'… but the words got lost in his throat. Instead, he found himself asking, 'Where were you?'

The headmaster grimaced, moving the hand from his chin to brush Harry's hair from his face. Harry rather suspected he was being covertly examined again; but he did not protest the contact. It made him feel safe. In a way that he had not for several long, terrifying hours. Albus took a moment before he answered.

'I was… detained,' he said at last. 'I was at the Ministry, as you know, for a meeting tonight. Fudge did not deign to share the Dementors' information until long after he had sent Ministry reinforcements; and Severus and Remus, it seems, were concerned that alerting me when they realised Pettigrew had taken you would tip off the Ministry prematurely, and possibly put Sirius at risk. They could not know, of course, what would happen later.'

From the headmaster's expression, Harry could tell that Albus did not agree with this reasoning. But it did explain his absence. Harry sighed, and began recounting the rest of the night… how Pettigrew had vanished when Harry collapsed… how he'd run with Sirius; called the thestral to them at the edge of the trees.

'I don't remember anything, after he flew off,' Harry finished at last. 'I guess that's when I must have passed out again…'

'Not an uncommon phenomenon,' Albus reassured him. 'With the end of an adrenaline rush, things tend to catch up with us.' He pulled Hagrid's whistle from the pocket of his violet robes. 'I found this beside you, when Severus and I arrived in the forest tonight,' he told him. 'I was able to piece together what had happened… the Ministry, however, was not. Sirius is in no immediate peril.'

Harry let out a sigh of relief. He had known, of course, that the Ministry hadn't caught Sirius… he could tell as much from the conversation he'd overheard since waking. But it was good to hear it affirmed all the same.

'I think this out to be returned to its master,' Dumbledore said with a wink, placing the thestral whistle on Harry's bedside table. 'It may come in handy if…'

But Harry was no longer listening. His heart was frozen in his chest; as if Dementors had burst into the hospital wing.

 _The Servant shall break free and set out to re-join his Master…_

'Harry?' the headmaster called, looking very concerned as he bent over him.

 _Tonight, before Midnight…_

'The Servant shall break free…' Harry repeated aloud. 'Trelawney's prophecy! It happened… exactly like she said. And it's _my_ fault!'

Dumbledore was frowning. He did not remove his hands from Harry's shoulders as he spoke. 'What, exactly, did Professor Trelawney tell you?' he asked gently.

Harry repeated the words, as precisely as he could remember them. He described Trelawney's strange trance… the odd way she'd spoken and her lack of memory. Dumbledore did not ask any questions, but his face was unreadable as Harry finished.

'Did… was that a true prophecy, sir?'

Though only hours ago Harry had been determined that the others might believe him; now he wished with all his heart that Dumbledore would deny it.

'I believe so, yes,' Albus said honestly, dashing Harry's hope. He gave Harry the shadow of a smile. 'Even Professor Trelawney, Harry, has her moments. I have witnessed her make such prophecy before.'

'You… you _have_?' Harry asked, astounded. 'You never said…'

Harry thought, for just a heartbeat, a shadow passed behind Dumbledore's eyes. But when he made to look again, the headmaster's expression was as benign as ever.

'Yes,' Albus confirmed. 'Just once, many years ago.'

'And did it come true?' Harry pressed.

Again, something momentarily flashed in the headmaster's face.

'In part,' he answered quietly. 'The rest… the moment it referred to has not yet come to pass.'

Harry felt panic rise within him again. 'Then it _is_ my fault!' he repeated, sitting up against the bedframe and balling his hands into fists in anger. 'I wouldn't let them kill Pettigrew! Sirius, Remus, Snape… they all wanted to. But I wouldn't let them. I blasted Snape against the wall to stop him doing it… I _made_ Sirius bring him back alive. And then, he escaped in the grounds! Now he'll return to Voldemort, and Voldemort will rise again just like she said, and I'll –'

'Harry – stop,' Dumbledore commanded. He sat himself on the edge of the bed, both hands on Harry's shoulders again. Harry could not tell if the intention was to comfort or restrain him.

'But she _said_ –'

'Listen to me, Harry' Albus interrupted, very seriously. He moved one hand to cup Harry's cheek. 'None of us, no matter our powers, make or unmake fate. The consequences of our actions are far too complex – far too interwoven – to ever predict in their entirety. It is what makes Divination such a tenuous and difficult branch of magic. _You_ are not the reason Sybill's prediction came true, Harry. We do not make a prophecy's fulfilment more or less likely by either avoiding it or forcing it about. The events of what would be were to be… whether you had overheard Sybill's prediction or not.'

'But it's _my_ fault Pettigrew escaped!' Harry repeated, only slightly less agitated.

'It is _not_ your fault, my dear boy,' Albus contradicted gently. 'You could not control the chain of events in the grounds. And you were right, Harry. James and Lily would _not_ have wanted their friends to avenge their deaths by murdering Pettigrew. That was not their way, and it should not be yours.'

'But if Voldemort comes back now…' Harry insisted.

'Then it will not rest on you,' Albus assured him firmly. 'Moreover, Peter Pettigrew now owes you a life debt. A life debt is a powerful thing, in the magical world… a powerful bond that is tied to a wizard's very core, and must be repaid. You may, one day, be very grateful that you saved Peter Pettigrew's life tonight… and I am much mistaken if Lord Voldemort should desire a servant in the debt of Harry Potter.'

A life debt… like Snape had owed James Potter…

 _Snape_ …

'Sirius told me what happened, the night my father saved Snape's life,' Harry told him, watching Dumbledore's face closely as he brought the conversation back to his original argument. 'That's why he hates Sirius so much, I suppose… but _how_ can you let him lie to the Ministry like that?' he demanded. 'How can you let him tell them it's _Sirius_ who –'

'Harry,' Dumbledore said, looking very sad again, 'The reasons that argue against trying to secure Sirius' freedom without Peter Pettigrew to offer in his stead still stand; perhaps even more so, in the wake of all that happened tonight. Believe me, nobody wishes more than I that there was another way. But, at this juncture, to attempt to persuade Cornelius otherwise is to take a great risk. For none more so than Sirius himself. Severus is only doing what he knows he must. What will, ultimately, keep Sirius _and_ you from harm.'

' _How_ does it keep Sirius from harm to let the Ministry think he attacked me tonight?' he demanded. 'If they think he put the _Cruciatus_ –'

'The Minister does not know that piece of information,' Albus informed him, his own eyes darkening again at the reminder. 'I gave Poppy the diagnostic discretely; we did not mention the curse's use to Cornelius.'

'Fine then,' Harry relented, disgruntled. 'But that's not the point. I mean, I got it before, and all… but now we've _seen_ Pettigrew, haven't we? Seen him as a man! Why couldn't we just submit our memories to Fudge, or –'

'You know why the Ministry will not accept Sirius or Remus' word, Harry,' Albus said patiently. 'We have been through this before.'

'Yeah, but now it's _not_ just them!' Harry argued. 'That's my point, Albus. There's me, Hermione, Ron _and_ Snape… they can't just dismiss us all!'

'Children's memories are more easily Confunded than adults,' Albus confided. 'To the Ministry, who will be hoping for that explanation… they will not consider an alternative. And Severus cannot offer his own testimony.'

Harry scoffed. 'That's rubbish,' he said angrily. 'All of it. Even if they _don't_ believe us, _and_ Remus _and_ Sirius _and_ back-up from you or Minerva… why couldn't Snape speak up? Just because he's so good at Occlumency… even the Ministry must be able to see how much he _hates_ Sirius. Why would he help him, if it wasn't the truth? Why would he _have_ to lie?'

Albus sighed heavily again. Though Harry was the one in the hospital-issue pyjamas, he rather thought the headmaster looked much more exhausted than he felt. He took longer to answer than he had yet that night.

'If Pettigrew had not escaped tonight,' he said slowly at last, 'If he had been captured… or even if he had been killed… things might be different,' he admitted. 'But as they stand now, Severus has no other option, Harry, then to tell the story he has told. There are factors at play which are far more complex than I have the ability to explain tonight.'

'But _why_?' Harry demanded.

'Because it would not make a difference, either way,' Albus said sadly. 'And this way… everyone stays safe, for the moment. Sirius will have his redemption, Harry, I promise you. I am sorry it could not be tonight.'

Harry let his head fall back against the pillow, turning his face toward the window and away from the headmaster for a moment… still gritting his teeth in bitter frustration. Beyond the mullioned panes, the cold, steel-grey light of earliest dawn was just beginning to lighten the grounds. Harry wondered if Remus would have changed back yet. He couldn't see the Willow, from this angle.

'I… I really thought everything was about to work out,' he admitted softly. 'I should have known…'

'There was nothing you could have done, my dear child,' Albus said quietly. 'And by all accounts, many things did work out this night. _You_ were not successfully kidnapped; Sirius was not recaptured; neither you nor your school mates suffered permanent injury; and you performed incredible feats of both magic and bravery. You succeeded in saving Sirius from an unconscionable fate. All of this, Harry, is accomplishment to be grateful for.'

Harry did not reply. But as he felt Dumbledore's strong fingers close over his own, he squeezed back all the same.

'We ought to call an end to the conversation, for now,' the headmaster opined a few moments later, resting a hand on Harry's head. 'You need to rest and heal, if you are going to have a prayer of being up and about on the morrow.'

'Madam Pomfrey will never let me out tomorrow either way,' Harry said bitterly. 'She kept me to bed the whole week-end after the last Dementor attack… and that time I _hadn't_ also done wandless magic _and_ been under the Cruciatus in the same night.'

Albus smiled faintly as he stood from the edge of the bed. 'You are stronger than you were, Harry,' he disagreed gently. 'Both physically, and magically. You have grown.'

Harry did not quite know what to say to that.

'It's been a lot longer than a few minutes,' he observed, yawning a bit as Dumbledore doused his candle. 'I'm surprised she hasn't come back to shout at us already.'

'Hmm…' Albus agreed. He pulled Harry's covers up to his chin. 'Well, I _might_ not have been entirely truthful, when I pointed her towards Severus' location. But then, Poppy enjoys a good hunt more than anyone I have ever known.'

Harry grinned, just a little, as he felt the headmaster's magic lull him into sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The term drew to a close with the usual cheer above him. Students chatted happily about summer plans and Quidditch matches, released from the pressures of examinations and lessons. They spent their fortnight of freedom lounging in the grounds, feasting in the Great Hall, and engaging in the usual mayhem that allowed him opportunity to take last minute points.

But in the dungeons below, Severus was far less content. He almost, as much as it made him ill to contemplate the fact, missed the mutt. He almost missed the months of staring at that revolting parchment with Lupin. At least, before that night, they had known where the traitor was. At least Severus had been able to contemplate victory.

Now…

The knock came at his quarters four days later. Severus knew before he answered that it would be Albus.

He was irritated, somewhat, that the headmaster had taken so long. He knew Potter had spent but one night in the matron's company… and yet Albus had been preoccupied, in the days since. He'd met with the wolf and with Fudge. He had seen that the Dementors were removed from the school. He'd returned to London and continued his interrupted discussions with the other European schools…

And only now, it seemed, had he found time for Severus.

He pulled the door ajar in some irritation.

'Headmaster,' he greeted in a clipped tone.

Albus, it seemed, was ready for the rancour. He smiled pleasantly as he showed himself in.

'Severus,' he acknowledged with a nod. 'Nearly done marking your examinations by now, I should expect?'

Severus scowled. 'I am,' he said curtly. 'Are you insinuating your absence of late has been naught but courtesy for my end-of-term duties?'

Albus chuckled lightly, though Severus could read sadness behind the twinkle. 'Never,' he disagreed. 'I have had a great deal on my own plate, until now….'

Severus gave an impatient noise, but led the way toward the sitting room. He dug a bottle of Albus' favourite scotch out of the side cupboard, offering the spirit up wordlessly. At Albus' nod, he poured two measures.

'You were wise,' Albus observed, 'Not to tell Cornelius the truth of what happened the other night.'

Severus snorted. 'I am not a fool,' he said waspishly. 'I recognise that my word would not do Black any favours… _not_ that I am inclined to offer favour, of course. But Pettigrew's escape, in any case, has complicated matters…. Should the Dark Lord ever rise again –'

'When,' Albus corrected. 'I am afraid, Severus, that the question has always been when. And the answer may prove closer than we imagined.'

Severus raised an eyebrow. The firelight was dancing off Albus' half-moon spectacles, making his eyes much harder to read. Not that Albus often gave away his thoughts.

The headmaster sighed. 'Sybill has made another prophecy,' he informed him softly. 'Only hours before the events of that night, to Harry.'

Severus nearly dropped his tumbler as Albus recited the second-hand words. He felt his upper lip curl, in both anger and fear.

'Sybill Trelawney has made but _one_ true prophecy in all her career,' he reminded Albus in a snarl. 'And _Potter_ is hardly able to distinguish knotgrass from dandelion. I cannot think him capable of –'

'Severus,' Albus quelled. 'This is not to be taken lightly. It was foreseen that Pettigrew will assist Lord Voldemort to rise again, which means there are things we must discuss.'

The Potions Master took a longer pull from his drink, wishing it were something stronger than whisky. Perhaps arsenic.

'That you did not reveal the truth to the Minister is all to the better,' the headmaster continued. 'But there are other ears which could prove just as fatal. Harry tells me you attempted to kill Peter Pettigrew in the Shrieking Shack…'

'And did the brat tell you what _he_ did, Albus?' Severus demanded. 'Did he inform you, headmaster, that he lost his mediocre control yet _again_ , resulting in my injury and his own overexertion?! If it were not for his _woeful_ incompetence, I might have prevented this entire disastrous series of events!'

Albus held up a hand. 'Harry did tell me, Severus,' he said, though his voice dripped with warning. 'And I do believe he feels remorse for his actions. On the other hand, Harry's interference kept _you_ from crossing an irredeemable line, Severus… and I cannot bring myself to regret that, whatever might have followed.'

Severus ground his teeth, unwilling to bend.

'In any event, that is not what I inquired about,' Albus went on. 'What is done is done. Pettigrew _has_ escaped, and he will already be seeking his master. He has nowhere left to go, after all. So we must decide, Severus, how you will manage to undo whatever damage Pettigrew could inflict to your loyalties, should Lord Voldemort discover the circumstances of his escape. Or else, we must begin to consider whether it would be wise for you to resume your place at all.'

Severus hesitated. He had never considered it – never thought there was a choice, after the many mistakes he had made… the many years he had already spent, attempting to reverse their damage. He had never considered that he might walk away. Or, at least, never considered that he might do so with the headmaster's blessing.

But Albus was giving him a choice.

A choice, he knew, he had already made…. Already committed his life to, years ago. It was not within Albus' power to undo. It was not the headmaster to whom he had pledged his soul.

It was only for Her.

'It will not be a problem,' he said, as silkily and unruffled as he could manage. 'I said nothing to Pettigrew that would indicate anything but my desire to see him dead. I spoke, in fact, of his unpopularity with the Death Eaters… anything I told him could be easily interpreted as anger on the Dark Lord's behalf. It is a memory I would have no scruples showing the Dark Lord himself… and one which I possibly could use for that purpose, should the necessary occasion present.'

Albus nodded in satisfaction, though his expression was still grave. 'We have avoided that pitfall, then,' he said. 'It is lucky, perhaps, that you were incapacitated when you were… it saves us the inconvenience of needing further explanation.'

Severus scowled, drinking deeply again. 'Let us hope we will not need explanation at all,' he said when he emerged.

'After all,' he reasoned with slightly more confidence, 'Pettigrew's success can hardly be counted immediate, even if the Seer proves right. He is hardly a talented wizard. It may take him years to locate the Dark Lord, if he manages to do so at all… and the Dark Lord is as likely to kill him as reward him for the finding. Even if he survives their reunion, I myself would put little faith in his ability to return the Dark Lord to power single-handed.'

'Do not underestimate Peter Pettigrew,' Albus cautioned. 'That is the blunder we all made, all those years ago. Failure to learn from the mistakes of history dooms men to fatal repetition.'

Severus frowned. He was more disquieted than he was comfortable admitting, even to this wizard… who knew him better than any other soul alive. But they were not in crisis – not yet. And it was amateur to lose one's head when there were precautions easy enough to take.

'Keep eyes on those who escaped the confines of Azkaban,' he advised. 'MacNair, Avery, Malfoy, Nott… the old crowd. I can review the list, should you need it. There can't be more than two dozen or so still free. Karkaroff, of course, will be here already.'

Albus inclined his head. 'A reasonable proposal,' he approved.

'Pettigrew will not act alone,' Severus continued, musing aloud. 'And the Dark Lord is not near fool enough to allow it. If there is movement among the Death Eaters… if Pettigrew or the Dark Lord approaches another for assistance… one of the others will serve as a marker. It will have to be one of them.'

'I tend to agree,' the headmaster said. 'We should discuss it in more detail after the children have gone, before Harry returns from his aunt and uncle's.'

Severus gave an irritated jerk of the shoulder: both at the reminder of the brat, and the mention of his despicable relations.

But he also thought of something else…. A query to which he was not sure he wanted to know Albus' answer.

'Will you tell him?' he asked anyway.

The headmaster, as Severus had expected, did not need further explanation. He stared hard at Severus for a moment, seeming to debate the answer himself.

'No,' he said at last. 'Not… not just yet.'

Though a part of him relaxed at the news, the other half grew decidedly angry. 'Why not?' he demanded. 'It is _his_ future, Albus, that is the centre of this maddening web. It will be for him to end this.'

'Yes,' Albus agreed. 'But Harry is still a…' he stopped, swallowing hard; uncharacteristically emotional. 'He is still young,' he amended. 'He is not ready for the weight of such a burden… and we are still an unknowable distance away from Lord Voldemort's return. There is still time.'

Severus glared. 'The brat is immature and under-talented,' he opined. 'But he is not likely to snap _out_ of that childishness until you make clear to him what is at stake.'

'And you would have me do so now?' Albus suggested with a raised brow. 'You would have me place that burden on him… take away whatever carefree moment he may still have? He is not yet fourteen, Severus… he is not ready to deal with it, mentally or magically. I cannot do it to him; not now.'

Severus considered the headmaster shrewdly. He could not believe – even watching the headmaster's sickening devotion to the boy – that he needed to give such a reminder. Not to this man… this master of calculation and complex schemes. And yet, somehow, he _could_ believe it. Because it was as the Dark Lord had always thought…

Albus Dumbledore's greatest weakness was his capacity for Love.

He refilled both their drinks before he answered.

'Albus,' he said, after a long pause, and with more softness than his voice usually allowed, 'The boy may not be ready, as of yet. But _you_ may never be ready. You may never want him to face what he must… to _do_ what he must.'

The headmaster sipped his drink in silence. For several minutes, there was nothing to disrupt the evening but the pleasant crackle of the fire, bringing an end to a day just like any other… and yet entirely altered.

'And what of you, Severus?' Albus asked quietly. 'Will you be prepared, to do what you must, when the time should come?'

Severus met Albus' piercing gaze. He saw concern, and perhaps something more, in the bright blue eyes.

He drained the last of his whisky.

'Always, Albus,' he vowed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was a beautiful summer's day.

Remus had opened the windows, letting the warmth and flowery breeze seep into his little quarters as he bustled to finish up his packing. He would miss this home, when he left at the end of the week. Soft sunlight gleamed off the fastenings on the pile of cloaks he'd laid over the back of the sofa; many books with ribbons and notes shoved in at odd angles stood stacked on the sitting room table; and, on the mantel, the Map lay folded and closed.

Remus was not glued to it, anymore. There was no longer a point in the obsession. But he did not need its spell to prepare him for the familiar knock at the door.

'Come in, Harry,' he invited, speaking before he'd even walked round the sofa.

Harry burst in, looking utterly devastated. Remus offered him a sad smile.

'You've heard,' he guessed. 'I expected Albus might tell you.'

A wasp hummed angrily against one of the mullioned windows… searching, perhaps, for its escape route.

'How can you leave?' Harry pleaded, before Remus could even offer tea. 'You've been brilliant this year, Remus: the first real teacher we've had in Defence. You _can't_ go!'

Remus sighed. 'Harry, did you speak with Albus about why I have decided to resign?' he asked, moving an empty specimen tank off Harry's usual cushion.

Harry did not take the proffered seat. He crossed his arms. 'Not much,' he said defiantly. 'I came straight here, when he told me you'd decided to go. I wanted to hear it from you. I wanted _you_ to explain why you would leave us… why you would leave _me_!'

'I am not leaving you,' Remus contradicted. 'I will still be going to Surrey with you at the end of the week, and I –'

'That's _not_ the same thing!' Harry shouted. He glared. 'Is it because of that rubbish in the _Prophet_?' he guessed with a scowl. 'Because of that Skeeter woman who wrote up Sirius' escape on Tuesday, and told everyone that you're a –'

'No, it is not,' Remus said firmly. He grimaced at the memory… both of the article and the dozens of Howlers that had rained down his windows the following day. 'The staff and the Board of Governors were already aware; neither Dumbledore nor I did anything improper. There are angry parents, of course… many of them, but –'

'That doesn't matter!' Harry interrupted again. ' _Nobody_ cares, Remus. Not anyone who's had you in lessons. _Everyone_ thinks you were a brilliant teacher… even some of the Slytherins were saying so at breakfast yesterday. _My_ form thinks it even makes you better, that you know so much about –'

'Harry, has anyone ever mentioned that you have a particular habit of cutting people off before their explanation is complete?' Remus inquired lightly. 'It _does_ make it difficult, for someone who wants so badly to hear the answers to his questions.'

He was smiling teasingly, but Harry coloured anyway. The trapped wasp began to buzz more insistently.

'Sorry,' the boy mumbled, chastised.

'It's quite alright,' Remus assured him. 'In any case, what I was going to say, Harry, is that I am _not_ leaving because of what Ms Skeeter wrote… nor even because of what happened at the last full moon. I spoke with the headmaster even before the article was published.'

He paused, thinking back on his conversation with Albus…

 _Remus knocked softly on the door, afraid the headmaster might not yet be awake. They had, after all, had several very long days. But the old man's voice answered the call almost at once._

 _'Enter,' Albus invited. Remus pushed open the door._

 _The headmaster was not seated at his desk perusing end of term paperwork, as Remus had suspected would be the case. Instead, he was on his feet at Fawkes' golden perch, stroking the phoenix's scarlet and gold plumage and crooning softly at it. The bird's eyes met Remus' before the headmaster's did. He sang one, high note._

 _'Headmaster,' Remus greeted, clearing his throat slightly from the unexpected emotion that seemed to have lodged there._

 _Albus turned slowly to face him. When Remus' gaze met the blue one, he was sure that Dumbledore already knew why he had come._

 _The headmaster sighed. 'Remus,' he said softly, coming down from the desk's platform toward him, 'Are you certain I cannot dissuade you?'_

 _Remus shook his head. 'You cannot,' he said. 'My mind is quite made up, Albus. I… I am very grateful, that you brought me here. Very thankful for the opportunity to teach, and to be with Harry… but it is time for me to go.'_

 _Albus gestured toward the sofa and Remus sank onto it, the headmaster seating himself upon the opposite armchair. Fawkes trilled again, taking to the air. He soared once around the circular office before alighting on the back of Albus' chair. He watched Remus through huge, doleful eyes._

 _Albus cleared his throat. 'If this is about the events of the other night,' he began, 'Then I wish you would reconsider, Remus. What happened was not your fault…'_

 _'What happened was intolerable,' Remus disagreed harshly. He was still furious with himself. 'My foolish disregard for the precaution I have known I must take, since I was five years old… my inexcusable lapse of judgment… it very nearly cost the lives of five innocent people, including the lives of my best friend and the child I love most in this world. There is no forgiveness for that, Albus. Not from you, and not from myself.'_

 _'It was not your fault,' Albus repeated. His voice was just as calm, even in the face of Remus' anger. 'There is not a man alive, my dear boy, who has not made a misstep navigating the perils of an emergent situation.'_

 _'I am not a man, Albus,' Remus growled. 'I am a monster. And I know better. This sort of danger was precisely what I feared could happen, when I foolishly allowed myself to think I could –'_

 _'You are a man, Remus,' Albus disagreed, his tone much sharper. 'A good, loyal and kind man. And I will not hear otherwise. What happened was unfortunate and, yes, could have been disastrous, had not fortune and talented spellwork intervened. But the point is, it was not. And, frankly, the situation was already perilous. From what I understand of the happenings in the Shrieking Shack, I cannot imagine your absence would have expedited a more favourable conclusion.'_

 _Remus hesitated. 'Perhaps not,' he allowed. 'But it only made things worse, in the end. And it has highlighted for me the truth of my condition… I cannot be around school children, Albus. It was, perhaps, just an unfortunate coincidence of timing last night… but if someone had died, or been bitten, I would never have forgiven myself. And it is not a risk I can take again.'_

 _Albus sighed deeply. 'I do not agree,' he said, stroking the phoenix's feathers once more. 'And even less do I relish the idea of sending you away, when we have such need of you here. The children must be instructed in Defence – now, perhaps, more than ever. And Harry –'_

 _'I won't leave him,' Remus promised. 'I shall keep to the scheme we discussed… go with him, to Petunia's home. But afterward….' He paused again, watching the sunlight gleam off Fawkes' plumage. He sighed. 'I do think that the threat of a werewolf in this castle presents more danger than it counters,' he reaffirmed, 'But to be entirely truthful… it is not the reason I wish to go, Albus,' he admitted at last._

 _The headmaster raised an eyebrow, but did not comment. He waited for Remus to continue._

 _'Sirius,' Remus said at last. 'Do you… do you know where he is?'_

 _Albus inclined his head. 'He is on the Isle of Skye,' he confided. 'For the remainder of this week. I have arranged for him to move to Bathilda's for a few days after… it is best, for now, to continue moving, until we can come to a more permanent arrangement.'_

 _Remus nodded. 'And… do you know what that arrangement might be?'_

 _Albus twinkled at him. 'I have… a few thoughts,' he said enigmatically. 'Nothing definite, of yet.'_

 _His eyes grew slightly more piercing. 'But if you think I would condone the pair of you continuing to hunt Peter Pettigrew across the globe, then I am afraid you will find I am rather less than amenable. Although remaining in the country holds significant risk, I do not wish for Sirius to leave Britain for many reasons, and even less do I wish you…'_

 _'No, no that is not what I meant,' Remus assured him hurriedly. 'It's only… I had a thought.'_

 _Albus waited again, and Remus pressed on._

 _'I want to be with him,' he said bluntly. 'He needs…' he hesitated, not sure how to put his thoughts into words. 'He needs help,' he decided, somewhat lamely. 'Azkaban… it altered him, Albus. Sometimes I think he realises; other times, he does not. But there is damage there that will not heal, on its own. He needs someone to help him with that, especially now….'_

 _He trailed off, a bit emotional again. This scheme was something he had been plotting for some time now. But he had thought – had hoped – that things would be different by the summer. That Pettigrew would be the one imprisoned, and Sirius exonerated. That he and Sirius both could have been at the castle, perhaps. That Sirius could have seen someone in London, though he was certain his friend would have fought_ that _idea tooth and nail. It would not have been hard to convince Sirius to stay at Hogwarts… he would have wanted to; to be near Remus, and – particularly – to be with Harry. It wasn't the family fantasy that Sirius had dreamed of excitedly over Firewhisky in the Shrieking Shack… but it would have been enough. It would have been perfect. Remus could have assuaged some of his own guilt, for leaving Sirius to rot in Azkaban for twelve long years._

 _But that could not be, not now._

 _They could not all go on the run with him. They could not undo all the wrongs of the past… but Remus – Remus could do this._

 _'He can't be alone,' Remus continued aloud. 'He's been that way too long, Albus. We left him; all of us. We abandoned him to that place. I abandoned him. My best friend…'_

 _'You put too much blame on yourself, Remus,' Albus said softly. His eyes, Remus noted with some alarm, were slightly watery. 'You always have done. Sirius does not fault you for the past. You seek forgiveness you have already won.'_

 _Remus gave a sad smile. 'Perhaps,' he allowed. 'But it does not change that what I have said holds true, headmaster. And not just for him. I… I thought he was lost. Just like all the rest. Friends, Albus, are all I get in this world. They are all I have. And I just got Sirius back. I do not want to lose him again. I do not want to abandon him… and I must help him, if I can.'_

 _Albus nodded slowly. He expression was still mournful, but there was a resignation in it that told Remus the headmaster would not protest._

 _'I would not let you go, Remus, for any less of a purpose,' he told him seriously. 'But I can understand your wish.'_

 _'Thank you, Albus,' Remus said, inclining his own head._

 _The phoenix sang another note. Albus had his fingers to his chin, looking deep in thought. Remus wondered if he ought to take his leave… But Albus had not given a sign yet to dismiss him, and he felt it might be rude to dash out after such a heady conversation. He smoothed the knees of his shabby robes instead, waiting for the headmaster to speak._

 _'If you intend to stay with Sirius,' Albus said at last, 'Then I think, perhaps, I may have a solution for his more permanent relocation.'_

 _Remus raised a brow. 'Oh?' he asked, curious._

 _'Indeed,' said the headmaster, his eyes twinkling. 'There is a cottage I took possession of several years ago, after you had moved to the Continent. It is quite remote and overlooks the sea. I had hoped to take some time there, as things wound down from the First War… but I am afraid Hogwarts has always been too much a lure and a responsibility to spend much time away. The cottage has sat mostly empty since its purchase. It would be fairly easy to ward, I should think. I could see to the arrangements easily enough while you are with Harry at the Dursleys'. And I do expect the seaside would be a wonderful place to blow the cobwebs of the past away. The ocean, or so I have often been told, has healing magic of its own.'_

 _Remus smiled. 'It sounds perfect,' he agreed. 'Thank you, headmaster.'_

 _'It is my pleasure, Remus,' Albus insisted. 'I dare say Harry, Minerva and I might even pay a visit. Minnie adores the sea… and I doubt Harry has ever had the chance to see it.'_

 _Remus' smile widened. 'That would be wonderful.'_

 _'Then I shall see to it straight away,' Albus agreed, clapping his hands as he made to stand. 'We can speak about the details on your return.'_

 _Remus nodded, and made to depart the office. He was nearly at the door when the headmaster called again._

 _'Oh, and Remus?'_

 _The professor turned. Albus was twinkling still, Fawkes balanced on his shoulder._

 _'I wonder if, perhaps when you and Harry return from Surrey, you would mind joining me on a visit to Alastor Moody…'_

Harry's eyes were wide as Remus finished the explanation. He had, finally, taken a seat on the sofa. Remus made his way over to the window as Harry processed.

'So… you're going to be staying with him?' he clarified. 'With Sirius?'

'I am,' Remus agreed with a smile. 'After we return from our visit to Surrey. We can correspond, of course, and even visit, once things have calmed a bit.'

He lifted the latch on the upper windowpane, letting the tired wasp back out into the sunlit grounds. It refrained even from stinging him in its gratitude.

Harry smiled a bit. 'Well… I guess that's alright,' he allowed at last as Remus returned to the sofa. 'I mean – I _really_ wish you were still going to teach,' he amended, with a stern look that reminded Remus a bit of Minerva. 'But I'm glad Sirius won't be on his own. And I'm glad we'll all still be able to see each other… even though everything went so wrong that night.'

Remus squeezed his shoulder gently. 'Me too,' he said. 'And I must say… I think you will find there are _some_ benefits to my position as an ex-professor…'

'Oh yeah?' Harry challenged, a bit glumly.

'Yes,' Remus affirmed.

He walked to the mantel, retrieving the folded Marauder's Map. Harry watched him dubiously, the shadow of frustration on his face.

'As I am no longer your professor,' Remus said, with just the slightest mischievous smirk, 'I see no reason that I cannot bequeath you this.'

He held the map out. Harry's mouth opened slightly in surprise as he took it.

'Really?' he asked, fingering the edges of the worn parchment. 'You aren't worried that I'll… I don't know, sneak off to the village and let Aberforth sell me Firewhisky?'

Remus gave him a wink. 'I trust you shall use it with the utmost discretion, Harry,' he told him seriously. 'And after all… what is life, without just a touch of mischief?'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'I've handed it in,' Hermione announced, tossing Harry's Arithmancy textbook onto his bed as she entered the boys' dormitory. 'You left that in the Common Room, by the way.'

Harry looked up from his strewn belongings to glance at the cover. He and Ron were the last in their dormitory to finish their packing up.

'Cheers,' he grunted, rebalancing the pile of Quidditch robes in his arms so he could reach for the book.

'Handed what in?' Ron queried, emerging slightly red-faced and dishevelled from where he'd been rummaging for spare socks under his four-poster.

Hermione sighed as she rolled her eyes. 'The _Time-Turner_ , obviously,' she explained in exasperation. 'I've just come from Professor McGonagall's office. I gave it back.'

Harry paused in his attempt to fold the crumpled-up trousers he'd found at the bottom of his wardrobe. He looked up at her in surprise. 'Really?' he asked. 'You're sure?'

'Why in blazes would you do that?' Ron demanded. He tossed the slightly dusty pair of socks he'd retrieved onto the top of his trunk, frowning at Hermione. 'Thought you were all about cramming in as many O.W.L. subjects as they offered?'

'I…was,' she said hesitantly. 'But I've just… I've been thinking a lot, since everything that's happened.' She glanced around the deserted room, as if frightened someone might be crouching unseen in a corner. Though it was clear the trio were alone in the dormitory, she whispered the next bit anyway. 'Since Sirius, and Pettigrew, and…'

'Trelawney's prophecy?' Harry suggested quietly.

She swallowed. 'I still don't believe it,' she told him firmly. 'That woman… she's nothing but an old fraud. But, that doesn't mean that things might not be happening. We all know that.'

'And that affects your ability to kill yourself revising thirty hours a day?' Ron quipped.

Hermione frowned at him. 'Not precisely,' she disagreed. 'I just think… well, there are more important things.'

Her eyes met Harry's. A flash of understanding passed between them. Harry felt older, suddenly, than he had ever felt before. It was as if in this past year he'd crossed some chasm, yet not even realised he'd done it. Somehow, he knew Hermione had crossed it too.

He wasn't sure he liked the world, on this side of it. It did not feel quite as safe.

'So… what did you drop then?' asked Ron, who was now sitting on his messily-stuffed trunk to force the lid shut.

'Get off,' she told him with a huff, pulling her wand to straighten the clutter. Ron grinned as he popped off the trunk and allowed her to fix it for him. 'And Muggle Studies,' she answered.

'Good choice,' Ron approved. 'Never understood why you joined up with that anyway; you're _Muggle-born_.'

'You can sit the exam anyway,' Harry said.

'I know,' she agreed. 'I spoke to Professor McGonagall about it, and she says a few people with Muggle backgrounds have done that before. I expect it _does_ mean they'll have to find another way for us to take Arithmancy next year, Harry, but –'

'That's fine,' said Harry quickly. 'Dumbledore will work something out. I won't miss that thing either.'

He threw the last of his quills on top of his parchment and shut his own trunk. 'All sorted?' he asked, turning to Ron.

Ron wiped a bit of sweat from his brow. 'Yeah, reckon so,' he agreed. 'But blimey, you'd think it'd be easier to work this out… undetectable extension charms and all. Mine must be faulty – rubbish second-hand thing, of course. Probably busted when George gave it to me.'

Hermione sniffed. 'The charms are supposed to be _instructive_ , as well as useful, Ron,' she lectured him. 'The manufacturers set them so they won't work properly unless you pack your things in _neatly_. Else how will you learn? There's a book all about it in –'

'The library,' Ron finished for her.

Hermione glared. Harry grinned.

'Well, we ought to head down to the feast,' Ron said, clapping his hands in excitement as his stomach gave an audible rumble. He led the way toward the door.

Harry lagged a bit, feeling that same sinking feeling in his gut that the Leaving Feast always stirred in him.

'Are you coming on the train tomorrow?' Hermione asked him as they made their way down the spiralling staircase for the portrait hole.

Harry nodded. 'Remus is coming,' he told her. 'Like last summer. He'll meet us at King's Cross when we get to London.'

His voice was hollow, but he could not help it. The Dursleys were only hours away. Hermione gave him a sympathetic smile.

'It's only a week or so, right?' she pressed gently. 'You'll be back before you know it, Harry.'

'Yeah,' Ron put in. 'And this summer's going to be brilliant – you just wait. It's the World Cup in August! Dad can usually get pretty good tickets… knows a couple of wizards in Magical Games and Sports. England's _hosting_ the final this year, for the first time in decades. Supposed to be out in Dartmoor, I think. Bet we could convince Dumbledore to let you come with.'

Harry brightened a bit in spite of himself. 'Yeah,' he said dreamily. 'Yeah… that would be brilliant.'

'You too, Hermione,' Ron added eagerly. 'You _can't_ not go to the World Cup, 'specially if it's here…'

Ron jabbered on about the prospect for most of the journey down to the Great Hall. Harry allowed himself to be happy as they deliberated the English and Scottish chances. Seamus Finnegan put up a vehement defence of the Irish side when at last they'd joined the Gryffindor table and the conversation of hundreds of students – all looking forward to several months of holiday. Seamus nearly socked Dean Thomas, when the latter suggested Wales might make a surprise surge. Neville seemed stressed almost to tears as he mused aloud whether he ought to support his mother's Welsh blood, or his father's English. The Patil twins and Lavender Brown started a giggly debate over some Bulgarian Seeker's merits verses the handsome wizard who had just joined up for Spain, and Ron spoke appreciatively of the tiny Scottish witch they'd watched the previous August…

But even the excitement of the forthcoming tournament could not keep Harry's melancholy at bay for long, as he looked around the Great Hall.

He knew he would be back in only a matter of days. He knew this summer, in addition to the headmaster and Minerva and Remus, he might be able to spend time with Sirius. But it did not change the fact that Sirius was still hunted; still considered, by almost everyone in the Wizarding World, to be a murderer. Still had to hide. It could not douse the knowledge that Pettigrew – his parents' betrayer – had got away. That he was still out there.

Or that it had, at least in part, been Harry's fault. Whatever Dumbledore might say to the contrary.

 _The Dark Lord will rise again, with his servant's aid…_

'Cheer up,' Hermione whispered, nudging him gently in the ribs.

Harry started. He realised he had been silent for several minutes; lost in contemplation whilst he stared unseeing at his half-full plate.

'It will all work out, Harry,' she told him gently, apparently reading the turmoil in his face. 'It always does, in the end.'

Harry nodded automatically, clearing his throat as he reached for his goblet of pumpkin juice.

What would be, would be. And he could change nothing, tonight.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was very late, as Albus made the walk alone back into the village. He'd timed it hoping to catch the pub nearly empty after last orders. Minerva, knowing that the summer would be hectic and not wishing to leave the castle once Harry had returned, had left immediately after the Hogwarts Express to visit with her family. Albus sent along a letter for Sirius, as he was currently staying with Ophelia as well. He hoped, at least, that Sirius would be keen for the scheme with Remus. It would be a relief to have one aspect of the tumult resolved.

The winged boars stood sentry on the high gates of the grounds, but they were the only watchers tonight. For whatever faults he foresaw with Cornelius, the headmaster was grateful that the Minister had complied with his wish to relieve the Dementors of their duty at the school. He only wished all evil was so easily dispatched.

Or, in the meantime, he would settle for a world in which he need not dance with one evil to fell another.

'Albus,' his brother greeted him, wiping at a corner table as the headmaster set the entrance bell tingling. The pub was, to his satisfaction, completely deserted. Most of the stools already stood upended on their tables, several unmanned rags finishing the washing up at the spigot behind the bar.

'Aberforth,' he nodded back. 'Has a visitor arrived for me?'

Aberforth grunted, tossing his soiled flannel carelessly toward the basin. His aim was expert.

'Aye,' he agreed. 'He's up in Room Seven. Said you'd asked for privacy…'

Albus inclined his head, making for the stairs. But Aberforth cut in front of his path. Albus raised an eyebrow.

'Hold your hippogriffs, Albus,' the barman protested, raising a bushy eyebrow. 'I wanted a word.'

'I _am_ rather anxious to see him, Aberforth,' Albus said with a touch of impatience. 'He has a long return journey…'

'I'm aware,' Aberforth said gruffly. 'Got a memory near as long as yours, Albus, and just as sharp. All them Weasley boys spent a night or two down here… the lookalikes near every week.'

Albus suppressed a chuckle in spite of himself. Minerva, he was certain, would not be pleased to hear it.

Aberforth was still staring shrewdly at him. The headmaster sighed. 'What is it?' he requested.

The barman's eyes narrowed. 'Not easy to pop round from Egypt…' he began darkly. 'And he's been by a few times, these past months. I stopped in at the international portkey office in town for a delivery the other day, Albus… didn't see one record of Weasley's travels.'

Albus frowned. 'It is not wise to draw attention to this, Aberforth,' he warned. 'If someone should notice –'

Aberforth gave a hollow laugh. 'I may be a barkeep, Albus… but we were forged in the same fire, you and I. I'm not ignorant enough to leave traces… and I'm not blind enough not to work out where it is he could be apparating in from… where he _wouldn't_ have to use the regulated channels…'

The headmaster's eyes flashed. He made to step around his brother, but Aberforth shifted with him.

'Don't bring the boy into this,' he said, eyes still boring into Albus'. 'It's wrong, Albus. You should know… you of _all_ people should know the risks. He's toxic. He'll turn him, or use him, or both.'

'Bill is not naïve,' Albus disagreed. 'And he is fully aware, Aberforth, of what he is facing in this task. He is not the same as… he is not prone to the same temptations; and he does not go into this blind. _You_ were the one who suggested Gellert's counsel, then warned me off engaging him on my own… what would you have me do?'

Aberforth did not answer. He stepped aside at last, though his eyes were still doubtful.

' _Don't_ do anything stupid, Albus,' he answered gruffly.

And he turned back to his close-up, leaving Albus to ascend the stairs alone.

'I apologise for the lateness of the hour,' the headmaster said, shutting the door to Room Seven softly behind him.

'Not a problem, sir,' Bill replied, offering Albus a drink as he joined him at the small table.

His tone was easy and his smile warm, but Albus could see that Bill Weasley had changed. He was slightly paler, just a hair thinner, than he had been at the start of the year. His long hair was pulled back in a more practical thong, and his eyes had taken on the beginnings of knowledge – true knowledge, the type of which most did not encounter. He looked older.

Albus felt a pang of guilt at the observation.

'How has your work been progressing?' he asked without preamble.

'It's coming along,' the wizard replied. 'He wants to see you, of course. Says he doesn't trust me… but I think we're working on that.'

Albus smiled slightly, though the situation was anything but amusing.

'You have not had any trouble with your Occlumency?' he checked.

Bill shook his head. 'I don't think so,' he affirmed. 'Not that I've noticed, anyway… and I think I _would_ notice, if he managed to get through.'

'Undoubtedly,' Albus agreed. 'But I am certain that he will not. He would not wish to anger me… and certainly he has realised that your skill is such that he would have to make a more obvious attack, if he hoped to succeed.'

The younger wizard gave a curt nod.

'Is there anything I should note?' Albus inquired, when it seemed Bill was hesitant to continue.

Bill's jaw worked for a moment, as though he were steeling himself to say something. His face had gone slightly pinched; he looked almost ill.

'He… he explained what it was you spoke of at our initial meeting,' he said at last. 'The Horcrux.'

Albus felt a thrill run up his spine. He had known, of course, that Bill would learn of this magic eventually… it was a sacrifice he knew he would have to make, when he'd elected to include the wizard in their confidences. But it made him uneasy all the same; that anyone else become privy to the horrors of darkest magic.

'A terrible, evil artefact,' he acknowledged. 'Created, as I am sure Gellert will have explained, through the ultimate act of dark magic.'

'Yes,' Bill said with a nod. 'Grindelwald told me. He also said that he – and you – think You-Know-Who made more than one… that that's how he survived, the night he attempted to kill Harry.'

'Voldemort,' Albus corrected. 'You must learn to say it, Bill.'

'Voldemort,' Bill agreed, still watching him closely. Albus sighed.

'Yes, that is what we believe occurred,' he admitted. 'There is no way to be certain… of any but the Diary, at least, at this point. But it is, I think, the most likely explanation, given all that we know of Tom Riddle.'

Bill nodded. 'Yes, that's what he thinks too,' he said. 'And he sends two messages.'

Albus waited.

'First, he says you ought to trace the locket,' Bill told him. 'He tried to look, apparently, but he says he cannot do more from his tower… and he doubts you would allow him to search beyond.'

'An accurate assessment,' Albus said at once. 'But I shall investigate myself.'

Bill nodded again. He took a sip from his drink. Albus watched him… but he did not go on.

'The other?' he prompted.

Bill turned the goblet round in his hand, hesitating. His eyes were gleaming when he raised them at last, but not with excitement. He looked almost frightened as he cleared his throat.

'The other was not a request,' he said slowly, 'But a… posture, he called it. He wishes you to know that he is researching something else…'

'Indeed?' Albus asked, intrigued. 'And what is that?'

Bill swallowed. 'He wants to know,' he said at last, 'Whether one can create a Horcrux out of a living being.'

 **FIN**.

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 **POST-A/N:**

I do not usually do a note again at the end, but I wanted to remind those who may skip initial author's notes that the first chapter of Part III _has_ posted! You can access the new book from my profile page, **'** **Child of Hogwarts, Part III: The Master of Death** **.'**

 **Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed and supported my writing throughout this long process! I cannot tell you how much it means to me.**

 **I hope you will all leave your comments/reviews/thoughts on the conclusion to Part II – and do enjoy Part III!**

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 **Review Responses, Chapter 42**

 **TL-Deception** : Thank you for reviewing! Really glad you enjoyed the action in the last chapter. We do get Albus and Minerva's return here, so I hope you like that… Enjoy the conclusion of Part II!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for reviewing! YES – the thestral whistle. I've been sitting on that for over a year, now… but this was always where it was headed. I'm glad you enjoyed its ultimate use. Haha, I'm sorry for the suspense – but things worked out in the end. Or, rather, nobody died, this time. I hope you like the final chapter!

 **Mwinter1** : Thanks for your review! Hope you are still enjoying the story, and that you like the last instalment!

 **Me** (Guest Review): Thank you for reviewing! I _do_ apologise that it made you cry… but I hope they were good tears? Very happy you enjoyed it so much, especially the bit where Harry finds out at last about the incident with the Willow while Snape and the Marauders were at school… I'd held off on that for a bit in this version, as I didn't have Harry sneak off to Hogsmeade the second time and therefore needed a new place where it would fit organically… glad it seems to have felt right here. Snape will be _very_ irritated when he awakens… his bit is perhaps my favourite arc in the final chapter, so I do hope you like it. As for Albus and the Sirius resolution – some of it will be addressed in this last instalment, and some will continue into Part III. Remus' future will definitely be addressed and, I hope, make some sense… but I'll let the readers judge that. Enjoy the ending!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for reviewing! Ah… I _did_ try to warn you! :) Don't lose your optimism – it's a wonderful quality! But definitely fair warning now that things are likely to get much darker in the Child of Hogwarts universe, before there's a chance for happily ever after. Alas, our characters will not be riding off into the sunset anytime soon, but I think the resolution is bitter-sweet, all in. Sirius, in the events of Chapter 42, makes the choice he was unable to make in 'The Godson.' Faced again with what responsibility really means; faced again with the choice between Harry and Wormtail… the choice between vengeance and justice; what is right and what is easiest… he makes a conscious decision to go to Harry, even though he realises doing so will likely end any chance of keeping Pettigrew. Sirius isn't free – or, at least, not yet – but he found freedom anyway, in a way. He found it in himself.

Fudge, on the other hand… that problem is just starting to heat up. We are seeing the beginnings of unease which make his reaction to Voldemort's ultimate resurgence so unsurprising to Albus, and so very dangerous for the world. He is, as Albus stated a few chapters ago, very much a 'peace-time Minister'… and yet peace time is drawing to a close. He cannot countenance a return to war, and it blinds him to reality and sense.

Haha, I enjoyed your rant on vanity… and it is true. Tradition, of course, is not just a wizarding phenomenon… it is also a steadfast hallmark of British society in many ways. Do not misunderstand me – I think tradition has its importance and its place… but just as Albus contemplates in Chapter 42, it also carries the danger of prolonging or promoting unwise inefficiencies and prejudice. And wizards – particularly when they 'get together' with their foreign counterparts, as Arthur Weasley chuckles about in canon GOF – can't help but show off, just a smidge.

Distance… I'm not sure I agree, actually, on this point. I think Dumbledore and Harry have become much closer than headmaster and student, though the relationship has grown organically, rather than overnight. It is clear that Albus sees Harry as 'his child' (he states as much several times, unconsciously), and many of our characters have commented on the situation. Harry finds it much harder to say that he 'loves' someone than the headmaster does, at least aloud… but I think the most telling part on his feelings for Albus comes in Chapter 41, when he thinks about Sirius' offer of a home… and realises that he _isn't_ missing a father-figure anymore, because Albus is so involved in his life. This relationship will continue to develop over the next few books, as it is the central story, really, that I am telling… so hopefully if you feel there's still too much 'distance' between them now, you will start to see that gap close more and more as we move forward. That being said, although I think the relationship is very much a mix of father-son, teacher-student, mentor-apprentice, protector-ward…. Albus and Minerva will definitely not be 'adopting' Harry in the legal sense.

The next book has started… in fact, the first chapter should be up as you read this. It is much more complex and much darker even than Part II has been at times… but I am very excited to share it. The first couple of chapters should post fairly quickly, as they have been written for some time. Definitely check out Chapter 1 when you've finished Part II!

 **Gingerljf175** : Thank you for reviewing! Very happy you found the series and that you have enjoyed it so much thus far, and thrilled to hear that the writing and characterisation is meeting expectations. I'll do my best to keep the updates quick! :) I hope you like the conclusion to Part II, and that you enjoy the new book!


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